


On Wings of Eagles

by WildBlueSonderling



Series: Avian Saga [1]
Category: Assassin's Creed, Soul Calibur
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Desire, F/M, Family, Girl Power, Historical Fantasy, Historical References, Hurt/Comfort, Manipulation, Religion, Sexual Tension, Threats of Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-24
Updated: 2014-02-22
Packaged: 2017-12-24 14:42:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 79,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/941192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WildBlueSonderling/pseuds/WildBlueSonderling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before Marco Polo recounted his journeys to Rustichello da Pisa, mentioning "Soul Edge, the Kingdom Destroyer" in <i>Il Milione</i>, the Cursed Sword was targeted by the Levantine Assassins. Al Mualim sends his Master Assassins throughout the region in hopes of locating Soul Edge before the Templars. Altair's search leads him to Konya, the capital of Anatolia, but instead of the powerful weapon he returns to Masyaf with a young woman at his side. She wants nothing more than to learn the skills to protect her family, yet as time passes Altair finds the relationship between master and disciple evolving into something infinitely more tempting than any Apple of Eden.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own any Assassin's Creed characters, Ubisoft does. I do not own any Soul Calibur characters, Namco does. This story features some historical incidents and figures that are fantastically portrayed for the sake of this fictional work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Konya: capital of the Seljuq Empire; Anglicized as Iconium  
> Anatolia/Antalya: region that became present-day Turkey  
> Damas: short form of Anglicized Damascus; Dimashq in Arabic  
> Kilij Arslan (II): a sultan of the Seljuq Empire involved in the Third Crusade; son of Ma'sud I  
> Cok sukur: thank god  
> Sagol: thanks

**Purity**

My name is Tülay al-Mhámmed.

My parents and I try to avoid the Crusaders from the Holy Roman Empire. They call themselves "hands of God" or a similar ostentatious moniker. I have heard they are marching to claim the Holy Land, the place called Jerusalem. Perhaps they should go on a quest to find some maps because Konya is definitely not the "Holy Land".

Konya used to be ruled by the sultan Kilij Arslan, but the invaders marched right in and seized power. How they obtained the throne, I do not know, but if I were to speak such an opinion in public my tongue would be cut off. Often has my father stated what a pity it would be to lose a voice as liberal as his own.

He is not an Anatolian. My father is from a magnificent city called Damas, or so he describes. He made his fortune there before coming to Antalya to try his hand at jewelry vending, but he ended up defending them instead. He had the favor of Arslan and his father before him, earning a respectable living as a royal caravan guard.

My mother worries each time he leaves for the Orient, but he always returns– sometimes with new scars on his hands, always with presents for us. My mother is a dancer and although she hates father's work, she loves the trinkets he brings home. My parents have a harmonious marriage and are still very much in love, so I leave to give them time alone.

On this night I am wearing new silk garments into the market. Since the day is over there are no merchants, but that is fine with me. I am content with solitude; it is not as though I have siblings to keep me company. Some days I just wander around the city, discovering new paths to places forbidden to me such as the palace courtyards and fruit groves.

I hope it is safe for me to return home. Tonight is brisk with a cold wind blowing down from the hills, nipping my exposed toes and biting at my heels like a stray dog. My leather sandals almost make no noise on the road as I begin moving with the rhythm of the wind, doing what has been ingrained in me since I could walk. Little did I know that I had an audience.

There were three soldiers at the end of the street.

My heart began pounding. I had seen them often in the daytime, but the moonlight gave them a much more menacing air. I knew they were watching me and would not let me go free of admonishment, so I approached them cautiously. "Daughter of Zanarhi?" the middle soldier asked roughly in my language.

"Yes..." I replied, keeping my eyes downcast. "Have I broken the law of your master?"

"Come with us," they commanded, and marched me toward the seized palace. They took me to a section I had never been in... I did not know any escape routes. But for fear of being struck down and thrown in the sewer to rot, I followed them.

Everything blurred together until we reached the throne room. In place of Arslan sat an old man wearing a tunic adorned with a cross, the mark of the Crusaders. He stood and descended the steps, never taking his eyes off me. Slowly and deliberately he came down. I stood like a statue and the man smiled at me, showing crooked teeth. I tried not to wince. "Dear girl," he spoke with false reassurance, "do you know why you are here?"

"No." My reply was so quiet I was unsure I had spoken.

"You are here because I have heard much gossip about you. I have been told that your mother is a beauty without equal and the best dancer in the city, attributes you have inherited. My men would appreciate someone to keep their spirits high as we march south." His smile turned lurid and my heart sank.

That night I became their prisoner. Someone –a bought noble, perhaps– tried to persuade me that my parents would be compensated after the crusade. I did not care for the way he spoke as if I were an easily-bought doll. Two soldiers led me to the harem; I fought them every step of the way, but they were armored and significantly outweighed me. After an hour someone came to offer me a meal, but I was more concerned with escape than nourishment. I stood at the gate screaming for them to release me, but the guards only laughed darkly.

I gave up after several hours of searching for a gap in the brickwork to chip away at, anything that would return me to the outside world. Why couldn't I have been abducted during the daytime after I had seen my parents once more? "Because you are swine!" I shouted. "You took advantage during Arslan's absence because you are too weak to face Seljuq swords head-on! Cowards!" I cursed them even though they could not understand me and fell asleep muttering insults to none but my own ears.

Sometime later a metallic sound woke me. I felt dizzy and lightheaded, likely from refusing the food. The entrance of the harem was hazy; I could not bring the gate to freedom into focus. But that was where the noise had come from, so I forced myself to sit up. "H-hello? Is someone there?" My voice was weak from so much yelling. I caught the sound of a blade slipping into a sheath; I recognized it from sparring with my father, who would have taught his sons to fight. A lightly-dressed figure appeared at the gate, everything but his robes hidden in the gloom. "Who are you? Please, help me!" I prayed he could understand.

My heart soared when I heard keys jingling. I crawled forward hastily, using the rugs to pull my trembling legs, climbing soft cushions as if they were mountain peaks. The gate swung inward and the figure stood still, beckoning my freedom.

"Çok şükür!!" I breathed. I could tell by his physique that he was some kind of warrior. "Sağol!" Could he even understand me? I tried Arabic, the language of my father and the Ayyubids. "Thank you, kind sir! How did you know I was here? Who are you?" I tried to discern his face, but it was obscured by the shadow cast by his hood. His robes were unlike anything I had seen before.

"Where is the treasure?" the man asked. His tone was rather brusque and unpleasant.

"Treasure?" I laughed. "This is an empty harem, as you can see... Who  _are_  you?"


	2. Prologue

**Loyalty**

My name is Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad. I am an Assassin.

I am going to hunt down my informant and kill him. He claimed to know the location of the artifact Al Mualim seeks, yet where I now stand proves that his words were as empty as this room. For his sake I hope he fled Tarsus.

The capital of the Sultanate of Rüm was occupied by Byzantines when I arrived, their crest decorating every wall and pillar. I hope the Turks have a leader willing to rise up and drive them out. These Crusaders are small in number and not King Richard's men, which means they are not as deadly. Still, I will not underestimate their fanaticism.

Unfortunately I made the mistake of underestimating their fascination with Muslim women.

After learning a bit about the palace I broke in and listened to two sentries. They spoke of a treasure hidden in the basement, something marvelous and enchanting. Who knew such words could be used to describe a mere girl?

I easily dispatched the guards outside the room. The only light came from two dim chandeliers; I jumped to grab one, swung to the other, and dropped down behind the soldiers, killing them before either had time to breathe a word. It must have been the rattle of their armor that alerted the girl within the harem. I could see that she was young and attractive, likely someone's wife, so I unlocked the gate to free her. "Where is the treasure?" I asked after she thanked me, one of three Turkish phrases I knew.

"Treasure? This is a vacant harem, as you can see." There seemed to be a mocking tone in her voice, or perhaps she thought it amusing that I assumed the cellar would be filled with gold and jewels. I knew this was a place for beautiful women, which some men considered valuable. "Who are you?" She asked too many questions and provided no answers, so I turned to leave. This mission had been a complete and utter waste of time. "Wait!" The girl grabbed onto my robe. "Please, you must help me. These soldiers abducted me off the street!"

"I am not obligated to assist you," I replied, "and what were you doing out on your own at this time of night?"

She made a sound of displeasure. "I was merely minding my own business when... Oh, never mind. I am so weak now, and I can tell you are quite strong." The flattery in her tone was obvious. "Could you please help me get home to my parents? Can you at least get me away from these infidels?"

I barked a laugh at her use of the word. "Mind your tongue, girl, lest  _they_  hear you say that." She grinned, a flash of clean teeth, and I extended a hand. She gripped it with thin fingers, a ruby ring fit for a noble encircling one. Shakily she rose to her feet, a hand on the wall for support. I didn't have any more time to waste. "Let's go."

"S-slow down..." she breathed. "I did not simply magic myself in here, like you must have. Who are you, kind sir?"

Kind sir! I almost snorted. "My name is Altaïr. I come from the southeast."

"Why have you traveled here? Did you come to fight the invaders? I wish you luck because their swords are broad." We were climbing the stairs now, but she was unsteady as a newborn fawn.

"You speak too freely," I said, "and I am not here to fight off the Byzantines. I will help you escape but then I must leave. You would be wise not to wander the night."

She sighed. "Believe me, stranger... Altaïr, was it? If I could, I would wander to Dimashq where my father was born and become a famous dancer like my mother. That is why the soldiers wanted me, you know."

Of course I didn't know, but I took her word for it. Her father must have been very wealthy if he could afford to give her gems meant for royalty. We neared the entrance to a long tiled hallway. There had been no guards in the vicinity when I first arrived, and when I peered up from the cellar entrance there were still none to be seen. "Safe. Come on." At the pace we were moving someone on patrol would surely find us. With a grumble I whirled around, caught the girl by the waist, and swept her over my shoulder. Thankfully she didn't shriek. I was doubly thankful she was slight of build.

I exited the palace the same way I got in: through a servant's door in the kitchen. No one raised an alarm so I set the girl down in the garden. She glanced around, confused, notifying me that I had to lead her back to the main street. Women were so helpless. She followed me in blessed silence until we exited the decrepit eastern courtyard and were in the clear.

"Thank you very much, Altaïr," she said, giving me a broad smile. Her hands were clasped behind her back as she twisted from side to side. "I assume you are not going to make the journey home on foot in the middle of the night, and the innkeepers have not been very hospitable to travelers since the Byzantines arrived."

"What are you saying?" I grumbled.

"I would like to offer you a safe place to sleep tonight. And my father is a caravan leader– he can escort you home in the morning."

"Listen, girl..." I began.

"Tülay," she stated. "My name is Tülay al-Mhámmed. Please, my parents will want to meet the man who rescued me from the infid... Crusaders. I will cook you an excellent meal."

I raised an eyebrow, smirking a little. Since this girl still lived with her parents that meant she wasn't a bride. If she was infatuated with me for rescuing her and now regarded me as a potential husband, I had to turn away her advances... but not before utilizing her hospitality. "Very well," I consented. "If you host me I will appreciate it."

I should have listened when my intuition warned me about underestimating her.


	3. One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Baba: father  
> Firlama: cheeky bastard  
> Antioch: a sovereign nation on the border of Syria and Turkey  
> Pyramus River: historical name of the Seyhan River  
> Mersi: thank you  
> Hammam: bath house  
> Dinar: currency  
> Effendi: sir

**Defiance**

Altaïr had to admit that the meal provided by the al-Mhámmed family was delicious. He sat on a cushion of red velvet while the women tended the dishes. Zanarhi had just finished regaling him with the tale of how he achieved such a fine lifestyle. "I have everything I need right here," the man with a short beard and weathered features said. "I am surrounded by the two greatest women in the sultanate!"

"Can we still call it that, Baba?" came Tülay's voice. She appeared in the doorway, a nearby lantern illuminating her like a spirit. "The Crusaders have taken over and Arslan is nowhere to be found."

"They won't be here long, child," Zanarhi reassured. "What they seek is not here, so they will leave... As long as we do nothing to provoke them." Altaïr would have snorted had not been incredibly rude. Crusaders didn't  _need_  a reason to harass these people, to usurp their lands, their resources, violate their women... The patriarch's demeanor suddenly changed, his eyes narrowing to scrutinize his cowled guest. "Now that you've been fed, I would like to hear the _real_ story as to how you met my daughter."

Tülay sat down on a golden pillow beside Altaïr, giving him a look that said "my father is not as scary as he would like you to believe" and motioning for him to go ahead and tell the truth. "Your daughter..." he began, choosing his words carefully, "She was taken hostage by the Byzantines." Her parents were stricken with horrified expressions, which made Tülay titter because she was perfectly fine, clearly. "I was sent to retrieve something from the palace," he continued, "and stumbled upon a young woman being held against her will. Of course I did not want her to become their slave, so I helped her escape—"

"And I _insisted_ I return his kindness in some way, even with something as meager as a meal." Tülay adopted the same falsely-chivalrous tone as Altaïr, and when he shot her an irritated glance she jabbed his hip beneath the table. Neither of them wanted to upset her parents.

Her mother, Ayla, took a shaky sip of tea before speaking. "We thank you for bringing her home safely, Altaïr. Your actions certainly speak louder than words." She gave her daughter a guilty look. "What did they want from you, Tülay?"

Zanarhi scoffed. "Of course they wanted to steal her away from us! She is much more beautiful and talented than... than the godless harlots in their lands!" He punctuated this by banging a fist on the table, making the dishes jump. Ayla put a hand on his and murmured reassuringly while Tülay rolled her eyes. Her parents muttered in Turkish, something along the lines of it being imperative that they marry her to someone in Arslan's court once the Byzantines were gone. She could become a noblewoman, a princess even, but no one would want her if she were impure. It was mentioned that she be confined to their home so none of the filthy foreign infidels (Altaïr now knew where her insults came from) could even look upon her, but Tülay protested and, although she'd never done so before, promised her parents that she would wear a veil in public from now on.

Altaïr sat in silence, noticing the reluctance with which Tülay suggested covering herself. It was clear that despite being a Muslim girl she was accustomed to certain freedoms, ones that any boy child would take for granted. Or so the Assassin assumed; his upbringing hadn't exactly been normal.

Zanarhi addressed him while rising from his sumptuous seat and the younger man snapped to attention. "It is late. I shall show you to the guest room." He followed the patriarch respectfully, getting the chance to see more of their lavish abode. Zanarhi did have a  _small_  family to provide for, Altaïr reasoned, which likely meant he had a vast fortune stashed away. Perhaps he should have requested a monetary reward for rescuing Tülay.

The room he was shown to was much more accommodating than he thought a guest room should be even though Zanarhi apologized it was "lacking". When he left Altaïr tutted before removing his garb. First the fighting knife and its chest harness. Next the leather belt with his throwing knives, followed by the scabbard housing his long sword. Altaïr undid the buckles of his leather bracers, then slipped out of his well-worn boots. Finally he tugged the hooded sleeveless robe over his head, mussing his short hair.

The spring night was quite warm, so he took off his tunic as well. With a sigh he lay down on the plush mattress, immediately desiring sleep but knowing he had much to consider, such as how Tülay intended to get her father to escort him when she hadn't even mentioned it at dinner. Just then he heard the slightest of noises– a footstep outside his room. The door opened to reveal the girl, who grinned and came to sit on the edge of his bed without even asking. "I am certain you shouldn't be in here," Altaïr stated.

Tülay waved it off. "My father would have me avoid all men as if they bore the plague. But there is a question on my mind that will not let me sleep."

"So ask."

She twisted to face him, revealing how well her silk chemise clung to her figure. "I want to go with you to the south," Tülay said simply. When Altaïr finally met her eyes, he was caught off-guard by the determination in them.

"Heh. Ha ha..." he scoffed.

"What is so amusing?" she demanded.

"The fact that you think it is acceptable to run off to a foreign land with a man you don't even know."

Tülay contemplated this. She knew her request was a little selfish, but it was her father's fault for sharing so many stories of Jerusalem and Damascus. She wanted to see them for herself, and what better way than to tag along with someone who was already going there? "With my parents free from watching over me," she smiled, "Allah may bless them with the son they always wanted."

Altaïr sighed. "Listen to me, Tülay... I know you believe it's a good idea to explore the world while you remain young and spirited, but this is a dangerous time. The place I call home is unlike anything you've experienced. Each day I wage war against evil men who wish for nothing but absolute control, and when I return I will be stepping into battle with them. A woman... a  _girl_  like you doesn't belong there."

"I no longer want to remain ignorant of the world, though!" she protested. "I need to know that there is hope for my people!" She lowered her voice. "Arslan, the sultan, is no longer here to protect us. His armies are scattered. But even without the great Salah al'Din around, _his_ people are safe from the Crusaders. I must see that peace will be ours once again... and if possible, I wish to herald it. If there is someone in Damascus or Jerusalem who can teach me to fight against the Byzantines, then I must go."

The man breathed deeply and dragged a hand down his face. Why was he even considering this? Maybe he admired the selflessness of her plea. "It shall be your father's decision," he finally said.

 Tülay grinned. "I will certainly persuade him to let me join you."

"The prospect of traveling with you thrills me to no end." She scoffed and muttered "firlama", which the man presumed an insult. "You wouldn't even be here if not for me," he haughtily reminded her, "so perhaps you should show a bit more gratitude."

"Yes, because you are definitely the type of man who would leave an innocent woman in the hands of her godless captors." He had nothing to say to that and rolled over onto his stomach. "Rest well then, Altaïr," Tülay said with a victorious little smirk.

He mumbled into the pillow, then listened to the door click shut as she left. He wasn't too worried about Zanarhi's decision. If by some miracle he agreed to the girl's crazy proposal, she would probably be disappointed by what she discovered and return home before he could say "I told you so".

* * *

"Baba!" Tülay shouted, "What do you  _mean_  you cannot escort him?"

Zanarhi looked at his daughter tiredly. "Although I am immensely grateful that he brought you home, the traders are fairly ill-equipped compared to Altaïr. They need my sword to defend them."

"What if _he_ needs your sword?" she countered. The man in question stood off to the side, waiting patiently for their argument to end.

Her father sighed. "I should think a man capable of infiltrating the palace would be more than a match for any threat along the road to Antioch." He turned his back on his daughter's scowl– she had his temperament, a trait he regretted passing on. "Now run home and help your mother prepare to go to the market." Tülay threw her hands in the air and stomped in the opposite direction of their house. Zanarhi sighed again as he faced the man in white. "I apologize for that impetuous display. It is my fault for spoiling her."

"She seems rather headstrong," Altaïr remarked, "but her behavior doesn't offend me." Zanarhi looked skyward and uttered words of thanks. "It also does not offend me that you have a prior engagement. Tülay shouldn't have assumed you would forego it on my behalf."

The mercenary eyed each of Altaïr's weapons before pointing toward a group of saddled camels. "I have informed the leader of that caravan that you will be joining him on the journey to Antioch. That was your destination, yes?" Altaïr nodded, then offered his hand. Zanarhi gripped it with both of his, but hidden in his palm was a small bag of coins. "Thank you for saving my daughter," he said solemnly, then spun on his heel and joined the convoy to Persia. He didn't look back at the city as they hobbled away.

All around Altaïr were people speaking an unfamiliar language, which was a little unsettling because he didn't know if they were discussing  _him_ , clearly out of place. He purchased some food and water before approaching his caravan. He offered a few coins but was turned down by the man with a long, full beard who indicated that he climb up on a camel. The Assassin had ridden a horse to Konya so it took him a couple hours to get used to the motion of the plodding beast. The caravan was comprised of ten people, none of whom Altaïr spoke to. He enjoyed the trek through the Taurus Mountains; Anatolia's topography was much different than that of the Levant– greener with a milder climate.

At the end of the first day the caravan stopped in Adana, a settlement along the Pyramus River. Altaïr intended to go right on ignoring his companions until a curious exchange caught his ear. "Yeah, I've heard the rumors," a scarred cutthroat said to the fat merchant beside him. "That scythe-wielding mystic was last seen in Alexandria. Supposedly he can perform miracles, like heal people by stabbing them with a holy weapon!"

"That's a load of garbage," another mercenary contested. "The people in that city are simple-minded fools who'll deify anyone they believe will protect them from the infidels."

The merchant fidgeted nervously. "But _I_ heard that Salah al'Din sent a company to Alexandria to keep the peace, and when they got there they were attacked by that mysterious man's followers! They found no trace of him, so he must have escaped!"

"People will do anything to preserve their miracles," the warrior said. "Doesn't mean they were real to begin with. If I saw a man with a scythe, I'd assume Death had finally caught up with me!"

Altaïr raised an eyebrow at the tale. If it  _was_  true, he reasoned, Al Mualim would have had it investigated by now. Still... a holy weapon? Those two words were almost always related to Templar meddling. Altaïr had been sent to the Seljuq Empire, after all, because of  _rumors_  of a miraculous artifact. But lately he kept turning up empty-handed with nothing to show for his efforts besides a saddle-numbed backside. Al Mualim was never disappointed in him, though, which he supposed was a good thing.

When night fell the travelers relished it. The sky was cloudless, the moon bright, and stars winked down from their heavenly thrones. Altaïr stared at them complacently, resting against a tree while everyone else sat around a fire. He was no astronomer, but he recognized a few constellations such as the Hunter and the Bull, and the Lion to the southwest. It was quiet, so he easily caught the footsteps approaching from behind. The young man who had ridden at the rear of the caravan proffered two rabbit kebabs while saying something in a language that sounded vaguely Arabic. Farsi, perhaps? "Sorry, I don't speak Persian," the Assassin said.

"Eat anyway," the youth replied. He wore baggy pants beneath a long robe and his turban seemed unusually large. His face was completely covered except for his eyes, which regarded Altaïr with interest.

"Mersi," he said, and the boy's eyes smiled.

"You do not speak Farsi?"

"I am fluent in one word." Altaïr bit into the grilled morsel, effectively conveying that he was done talking.

* * *

Their journey ended around noon the next day. Altaïr smiled at the familiar sight of Antioch, a city-state that acted as the physical congruence between the Seljuqs and Ayyubids. The first thing on his agenda was to rid himself of the musty camel stench. He glided by peasants, vendors, mercenaries and guards, the crowd instinctively parting for him. It wasn't often that Assassins came to the lands north of their home in Masyaf, but the locals had heard enough about them to recognize Altaïr for what he was: a predator to be avoided at all cost. He finally located a hammam but paused outside the entrance, shifting to scan the crowd in his peripheral vision.

The Persian boy was following him.

Altaïr stepped through the doorway, a frown darkening his visage. He handed a few dinar to the attendant and was shown to a private room. He undressed, stepped into the cool water from the Orontes River and sighed in relief, but didn't get too comfortable because he had a schedule to keep, simply sloughing off accumulated grime with a loofah. "Come again!" the clerk smiled, and Altaïr nodded his thanks.

He was heading toward the stables to purchase a horse when he came upon a noisy crowd in the southern plaza. Indulging his curiosity, he approached the edge of the audience, which made way for him as expected. He noticed it was only men he passed, and when he reached the center of the mob he discovered why.

There was a very attractive young woman moving her body in very attractive ways. Musicians were situated behind her, but no one paid them any mind.

Altaïr had never seen such a blatantly sensual dance. The girl wore an embroidered bronze jacket over a red top that had been gathered up to reveal her midsection. Her saffron-yellow skirt sat intriguingly low on her hips accentuated by a fringed wrap. Her arms moved so fluidly, as if they had no bones, and her fingers were constantly grasping and unfurling, drawing the audience further into stupor. It seemed as if she directed the music instead of responding to it; regardless, the rhythm was lively and solicited wild spins and shimmies. Altaïr couldn't comprehend how her body did that, ripple like wind-blown dunes out in the desert. He knew he had a report to deliver to Al Mualim, but he just couldn't tear his eyes from the dancer. She wasn't human. She was a force of nature, some ancient, primal goddess.

She swayed up to him before he realized what was happening. Those in the immediate vicinity stepped back as the girl made Altaïr her stage. Completely caught off-guard, he stood frozen while she flitted around him, dragging her mesmerizing fingers over his shoulders, his arms, and down his spine, soliciting pleasant shivers. _'Is this something all women can do,'_ he wondered, _'or only her?'_ His breath caught when she wrapped those liquid arms around his chest and rested her chin in the curve of his neck. He could sense that she was smiling, and if he turned to the left her lips would probably brush his cheek...

"Not fair!" someone whined. "I want a private dance!"

"Yeah! What's so special about  _him_?"

Altaïr barely heard them; he was caught in the spell the dancer continued to weave around him. She was before him now, swiveling and jutting her hips in ways that made him question if this was what sex was supposed to be like. He wasn't ashamed of his arousal –it wasn't as if anyone could tell– but he knew he couldn't act on it, and that was annoying. He really should leave before it became unbearable... but the girl had other ideas. She was moving against him, turning her hips into daggers that caused him great frustration, stopping his heart with the pressure of her breasts. She tossed her hair, stared at him through hooded eyes, turned up her lips in a smirk that said she knew how much he desired her.

Suddenly her arms were around his neck and there was absolutely no room for air between their bodies. Altaïr leaned forward to claim her lips, but she moved in the opposite direction, continuing to run as he chased them until her back was arched at an impossible angle. It dawned on him that this was the grand finale and she was only using him as a prop, so he resisted his urges and held his hands at his sides, focusing on the music winding down instead of the young enchantress. He watched a bead of sweat slide from her navel into the shadowed gap between the scarf and her hip bone, the gateway to heaven for all he knew.

All the men applauded, hooted and hollered. Even if they were poor they tossed coins at her because she deserved them. Altaïr even clapped a few times, wondering if he could use her as a valid excuse for being late with his report.  _'Better not chance it.'_ He turned to leave and took exactly five steps before a hand alighted on his back. He rotated, thinking it was some old lecher asking what it had been like to have the dancer rubbing against him, but upon seeing  _her_  face his eyes widened in surprise.

"Thank you for your participation, Effendi," she said with a playful smile. "Although it would have been better had you not been so stiff."

Altaïr felt himself blush profusely at the word. "You're, erm, quite welcome..." Now he was tongue-tied— what a grand impression this was. "Thank you for the... dance." The girl closed her eyes and gave a slight nod, then he got the hell out of there before making an even bigger fool of himself.

"Wait!" she called, and he stopped so abruptly she nearly ran into him. The man turned again and searched her confused expression. "Have you honestly forgotten me already, Altaïr?"

"Forgotten you?" he repeated. "I don't believe we've met before." Yet even as he said it, it dawned on him that in fact he _did_ recognize her wavy auburn hair, her lightly freckled skin, and her amber eyes. They looked exactly like her mother's, and she had her father's straight, narrow nose. But he didn't want to admit it. The revelation made his mind reel and he took a reflexive step away from her. "T...T... _Tülay?_ "

"Indeed," she grinned, placing a hand on her hip and giving him a wink.

She _had_ to know that he envisioned those hips moving against him, beneath him, on top of him. She _had_ to know that for approximately fifteen minutes she had been the subject of very unclean thoughts. Altaïr's shame quickly turned to ire, however. Showing off her body to hundreds of strange men and attempting to seduce him were completely inappropriate for a woman of her faith, yet she didn't seem bothered by either of these facts! _She_ should be the one regretting her actions, not him! "What... what are you doing here?" the Assassin asked, attempting to rein in his anger and embarrassment. "You must return home this instant!"

Tülay rolled her eyes, ignoring the threat in his tone. "I need to see these lands that have managed to fend off the Crusaders. Will you not show me them, Altaïr?"

"No, I won't!" he shouted. "I meant it when I said you don't belong here! I don't have the time nor the desire to shepherd you on this idiotic pilgrimage! By Allah, what were you thinking? Did it occur to you that your parents are probably worried sick, that they think you might have been captured by Barbarossa _again?_ How can you be so thoughtless?!"

The girl's expression remained passive despite his tirade. "I did not want to say this in front of my parents, and I do not want you to think I disrespect them... But their reparations for my return are... inadequate. I owe you my life, and I will follow you until that debt is paid."

"Why didn't you just say that instead of donning a disguise and running away from home?"

Her gaze fell to the street. "Because my other declaration is true as well– I want to be able to protect my family and my people. I wanted to find someone who could teach me, and when I saw you outside the harem, I knew _yours_ was the strength I needed."

Altaïr knew it was pointless to keep arguing with her. Tülay had a resolve that couldn't be swayed, and as much as he hated to admit it, her intentions were very noble. Worse still, he knew she possessed the qualities valued by the Order: loyalty, determination, selflessness and the ability to learn. That is to say she was willing to disregard everything she had been taught and become a blank slate upon which the Creed could be engraved.

 _'I could do it...'_  he thought.  _'I could train her, then send her home to liberate her people. It wouldn't take any time at all...'_

The Assassin sighed, but it only contained a hint of resignation. "Very well, Tülay. I'll show you the place I come from. You will stay there until _you_ decide to leave, and I had better not receive a bounty on my head from your father." Her lips separated into a beautiful smile; now _that_ was gratitude.

"He is a good judge of character. He would have killed you at the front door if he thought you might menace me like the Crusaders. He certainly would not have allowed you to sleep within a stone's throw of me."

A stone's throw... Bringing Tülay to Masyaf would without a doubt cause ripples among his brothers. He was not looking forward to the backlash. "Since you have such a large purse on hand, I believe it is only fair you pay for the horses to carry us south."

Tülay's exuberance dimmed. "I have never ridden a horse... Is it similar to a camel?"

"Yes," the man lied. "You'll do fine."


	4. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Efendim: my master

**Impression**

Riding a horse was not at all like a camel. It was much faster, for one thing, and Tülay felt she would fly off at any moment. She clung to the reins and kept her face buried in the steed's mane, her breath hitching every time the rhythm of its gallop changed. Altaïr allowed himself a small shred of satisfaction at her discomfort; it was only fair after what she'd done to him. Having traveled the road from Antioch to Masyaf numerous times, he guided his mount without much effort, adjusting his hands and legs mechanically while contemplating how to present Tülay.

They arrived at sunset, passing through the gate to the stronghold and trotting to the stables. A young servant appeared with admiration evident in his eyes as he tended Altaïr's horse, but then he saw the other rider and his mouth opened in disbelief. Tülay was too in awe of the fortress to notice that everyone in their vicinity had stopped to stare at her. Assassins surrounded them with whispers and critical gazes that Altaïr mirrored, daring them to say something. Only one person had the gall: Abbas Sofian, who barged through the crowd with two of his disciples in tow. “Well!” he shouted, ensuring everyone could hear him, “It seems your definition of an accomplished mission is far different than Al Mualim's, for when he sends you to procure a Templar artifact, the most favored Altaïr returns with a Seljuq harem bride!”

Altaïr owed them no explanations; he was the highest-ranking man among them. “Come,” he said gruffly to Tülay. She obeyed despite the fact that she felt very uncomfortable. Who were these men, and exactly what cause were they all devoted to? Most of them regarded her disapprovingly yet some leered and snickered.

“It’s about time Altaïr took a wife,” someone commented. “That must mean there's a son on the way.”

“ _I_ wouldn’t mind having a son with her,” another said. Tülay turned red with anger and almost stopped to give the man a piece of her mind, but then she wondered if perhaps Altaïr had lied to her, if he wasn’t going to teach her anything about fighting the Crusaders and enslave her to his desires instead…

Her fear vanished when they reached Al Mualim’s chamber. He sat at an ornately carved wooden desk situated before a large window, which illuminated numerous books on the shelves lining both sides of the room. Tülay was educated –her father had seen to that– and marveled at the man's literary collection, sighting titles in the numerous languages she knew as well as older tomes written in cuneiform and other pictographic alphabets, many of which seemed ready to disintegrate. Al Mualim himself was the epitome of a sage: he had white hair and wrinkles were etched upon his face, but his dark eyes held vigor belying his age. He wore an outfit similar to Altaïr’s but it was covered by a hooded black robe with silver embroidery.

The Mentor smiled at his prodigy. Altaïr had quickly risen to the rank of Master Assassin by continually proving his devotion to the Order, and he had a penchant for completing tasks with ruthless efficiency. The girl with him was young and pretty, a Turk judging by her attire, so there could only be one reason why they were here: Altaïr must have met her in Anatolia and wanted to make her his bride.

His lips parted in preparation to grant the request, but Altaïr battered him with a hasty explanation. "Master, I offer my apologies. The informant… Konya… it was a false trail. Konya has been occupied by Barbarossa's army, and they carry with them nothing of value. I will track down the man who lied to us and make him pay with his life."

"That won't be necessary," Al Mualim kindly replied. "He has already been eliminated. I suspected his deception as you departed to the Sultanate."

Altaïr gaped in amazement. The Mentor  _knew_ Anatolia was a dead-end? He had journeyed all the way there and back for  _nothing?_ What a waste of precious time! "If you could please explain, Master…" He tried hard to maintain an even tone.

Al Mualim rotated the map he’d been consulting to reveal numerous cities marked with Xs; the ink crossing out Konya was fresh. "It is I who should apologize for sending you on a fool's errand. You’ve been traveling around the region for several months now without even knowing the true nature of the artifact I seek.”

“What is it?” Altaïr asked, curiosity piqued.

"A sword," the Mentor answered. "At least, that is said to be its current incarnation. It is a weapon that can change shape at will, morphing to best serve its master. A weapon unable to be defeated in combat. If we obtained this sword, all the wrongs of the world could be righted. Its fearsome powers would make the Templars abandon their conquest of humankind, and our Order would have the ability to easily end this war."

"So you’ve had me get to the source of every rumor regarding this weapon in case it proves true…” the man finished. “I wish it had been in Konya so my brothers need not risk their lives looking for it.”

Al Mualim sighed and shifted in his heavily-worn chair. "I wish for that as well, Altaïr, but all things become minute in the vastness of the world. Our eyes in Dimashq and Jerusalem remain vigilant– the search will continue." He looked up, smiling pleasantly. "I know you have traveled far, so please rest long and well. You have definitely earned it."

"Thank you, Master." Altaïr bowed his head before turning around. He almost bumped right into Tülay, who had stood in complete silence the entire time. "Ah, Master..." He stepped sideways to present her. "You must be wondering why I've brought this girl."

"Yes, I do wonder that."

He cleared his throat. "This is Tülay al-Mhámmed. She is an Anatolian but her father was born in Dimashq. I met her in Konya, and she followed me to Antioch. I believe she has certain skills that could benefit the Order."

Al Mualim raised an eyebrow. “And what abilities would those be?”

“Her disguise was good enough that I thought her a young Persian man, and she charmed an entire crowd by dancing for them. She could distract targets for us and gain information using methods only a woman is capable of.”

“Altaïr, need I remind you why we do not recruit women for the Order?” Al Mualim held up a hand to list the reasons, but once again the man interjected.

“I know they are weaker, both physically and emotionally—” Tülay bristled beside him yet remained silent. “—and we cannot afford to grant our enemies mercy, which women are more willing to offer. But she is different! Her father has raised her like a son.”

Al Mualim came to stand before the girl. “Please remove your jacket.” She did so and he made a slow circle around her, scrutinizing her build. Her back, shoulders and arms were defined with lean muscle, and there were scars on her hands that had obviously come from a blade. He asked Tülay to lift her arms and she did. He squeezed her biceps, making her flex, then did the same to her forearms. “Lift your skirt, please.”

She hesitated but obeyed, raising the yellow fabric to her knees. Although her expression remained stoic Altaïr could tell there were a hundred questions going through her mind. He honestly hadn't known Al Mualim would appraise her like this and felt slightly guilty, but most recruits endured far worse. Tülay should consider herself lucky– it looked like she wouldn't have to begin on the bottom rung of the ladder.

The Mentor gripped her ankles and knees before facing Altaïr once again. “Tomorrow I want you to have Rauf assess her skill with a sword, and then I want both of your _impartial_ opinions about her. We will discuss how to proceed then.”

“Thank you, Master.” Altaïr ducked his head, a move that Tülay copied, and exited the chamber, smiling at the image of Abbas’ outraged expression when he learned the girl was to become one of them.

* * *

Tülay followed the hooded man up several flights of stairs and down a long, open corridor until he paused outside a wooden door. Producing a key from a pouch on his belt, Altaïr unlocked the entrance to his personal chamber. "I am staying with you?" she nervously inquired.

"Until you have been appointed your own room." He stepped inside and began clearing things off a second bed. No one had lain in it for many years and all he used it for was to support boxes of research notes and personal memos. It was probably extremely stiff and dusty, but not all mattresses could be made of fine fabric and feathers.

Tülay entered the room cautiously. She knew Altaïr would not take advantage of her, but what did she _really_ know of him? He hunted Crusaders and obviously belonged to an entire sect of men who committed murder for a living… a faction she had requested to join. She stood in the corner while Altaïr removed baskets and crates from the decrepit second bed, and once that was done he sat at his desk, placing before him a sheet of vellum, a quill and an inkwell. "What are you writing?" Tülay asked, daring to sit on the very edge of the mattress.

"Nothing."

The girl smiled. "I can see that. What  _will_  you be writing?"

"I am going to record everything you accomplish here,” Altaïr answered, and began jotting down the circumstances leading to their initial encounter. The next paragraph was about her family and personality. “How old are you?” he asked without glancing up.

"I turned seventeen a season ago."

“And no suitors?”

“None my parents have deemed worthy.” Tülay removed her well-worn leather sandals and hung her jacket on a bed post, then began combing her hair with her fingers. The man noticed her staring at him and paused to meet her gaze. “Am I worthy of joining your Order?”

“We’ll find out in the morning,” Altaïr answered. “You will spar with Rauf, our weapon’s master, to demonstrate what your father taught you.”

“And what if I meet your expectations?”

“Then you will be given the rank of Novice and begin physical training. I believe that is why Al Mualim… inspected you. The life of an Assassin begins at a young age, five to be exact. Recruits are commoners we induct into the Order while Servants are children born into it– they are expected to devote their lives to upholding the Creed. After five years of indoctrination and physical training, they ascend to the rank of Initiate and are taught to wield a weapon of their choice.” Tülay’s eyes were wide with intrigue, so he continued.

“At age fifteen they become Novices and are given advanced physical training. When a Novice successfully performs a Leap of Faith, he become an Apprentice to an Adept and is taught the art of killing.” Altaïr turned his arm over to show her the metal sheath attached to his bracer. “The Hidden Blade is the hallmark of our Order, and it is not an easy weapon to master. It is the Adept’s task to ensure his disciples learn to wield it properly. He is also responsible for their lives in the field.”

Tülay frowned slightly. “If you did not come to Konya with any disciples, are you not an Adept?”

“I am a Master Assassin,” Altaïr said, speaking his title with some measure of pride. “I answer only to Al Mualim. I can choose to complete missions with a team, but I’d rather not have anyone holding me back.”

The girl nodded slowly and finally trusted the integrity of the bed to lie down. _‘In that case, I must prove that I will not be a hindrance… I have to show everyone that I am just as capable as a man. I am sure the trials ahead will be difficult, but I cannot fail my people. I will endure whatever the Brotherhood puts me through.’_

* * *

Altaïr almost never dreamed, but this night gifted him with one. Two eagles soared high in the air together until one of them caught a thermal and drifted away. The other beat its wings to catch up, but the first just kept rising higher in the sky, eventually vanishing into a thick cloud bank. Altaïr then felt himself falling, but it wasn’t enough to jar his body from slumber. He was back in Antioch at the edge of a crowd. Music filled his ears as he gently pushed people aside so he could reach the center of the gathering.

There she was, the girl comprised of elements. She moved like water yet burned with passion. A playful muslin breeze whisked through his fingers, ethereal fabric currents wrapping around her earthly body. But no matter how hard he tried, she escaped his grasp. She wasn’t tangible.

Maybe he just wasn’t exuding enough force. Men used their strength to conquer the world, and conquer her he would. He would feel that fire as hot kisses, her tongue a flickering flame on his skin. He would control her oceanic rhythm and chart a course to ecstasy guided by the whispering winds of her breath. And he would sow his seed in her valley, the untouched paradise where all life began.

Altaïr awoke suddenly and was greeted by the familiar sight of his ceiling. He ripped the blanket off his sweating form and placed his feet on the cold stone floor. The shock helped clear his head, banishing any lingering images, and he glanced over to where Tülay had slept.

The young woman was not there.

At least she had made up the bed before wandering off. Altaïr applauded her manners while getting dressed. Once outside he went to the open wall of the corridor to inspect the grounds below. Lo and behold, the girl’s bright yellow skirt stood out like a rose in the desert. Descending the staircase brought him to the balcony overlooking the training area, where Tülay stood with a cumbersome Moorish scimitar in hand while Rauf posed her, moving her arms up, bending her elbows, and grabbing her ankles to correct her stance. This was the second time in less than a day that she found herself being touched by strange men.

“Rauf!” the Master Assassin barked as he came down the steps, stopping outside the arena’s wooden barrier.

The bulkier man glanced his way. “Ah, Altaïr! I was just explaining to your new student about the importance of proper weight distribution.”

“That’s not what it looked like to me,” he chastised. “I hope your hands have not wandered beneath her clothes.”

“O-o-of course not!” Rauf blushed and released a string of apologies as Tülay bit her lip to suppress a laugh. He was the kindest person she had met so far!

"That sword is too large for her," Altaïr declared. "Fetch a smaller blade and something for yourself." Rauf scurried into an alcove of dull weaponry, returning with a Baladi scimitar in one hand and a broadsword and buckler in the other.

Tülay shakily accepted the new blade. She hadn’t been nervous until Altaïr showed up. This was it, the test to see if she could survive the Order. There was a lot riding on this performance, which was what it would probably look like to anyone passing by. Her mother taught her a dance featuring a sword– it involved balancing it on her head, a now-useless skill, but surely she could transform those moves into an efficient fighting style.

Rauf raised his armaments while encroaching upon her. Tülay met his first strikes easily– they were slow and predictable, and she hardly had to change her stance to counter them. “Pick up the pace,” Altaïr commanded. After an uneasy glance the weapon master’s grip on his sword tightened, becoming a serious extension of his arm, and he began pressuring her. She was still blocking or deflecting his swings, but now she had to move around to avoid being smacked by the wooden buckler.

Rauf’s title was well-deserved. He was unique among his brethren for being proficient with every weapon in the region. He was just as deadly with a spear as he was a sword, and his aim always struck true whether he was hurling throwing knifes or firing an arrow or crossbow bolt. His favorite weapon, though, was a heavy double axe, which he had used to cleave many an enemy’s skull. So it came as a bit of a surprise that the girl actually tested his skill, and he abandoned the notion of going easy on her.

She never stopped moving, shifting her weight to attack and defend as effortlessly as walking. Tülay held her scimitar in a backwards grip –the way Rauf taught his students to wield the fighting knife or short blade– and had a tendency to spin into her attacks so she was constantly circling him. She used her flexibility to her advantage, snaking away from the tip of his broadsword only to deliver a quick counter slash he had to parry. Rauf shifted the focus of his shield to her lower body in an attempt to trip her up, but she nimbly evaded every sweep, skipping back out of range and lunging forward just as gracefully. Momentum was her ally, and Rauf found it difficult to tell which direction the scimitar was going to come from.

"That's enough," Altaïr eventually said. Tülay flashed him a smile, perhaps seeking praise, but he didn't give it. He rounded on the many lower-ranking members who had paused their chores to watch the girl’s exhibition. “Return to your duties!” he bellowed.

The boys scattered like frightened bugs. Tülay relinquished her weapon to Rauf, who wiped the sweat from his brow before flashing Altaïr a grin. “I’m quite impressed with your student,” he said before vanishing into the storage room.

Tülay stopped smiling in an attempt to appear humble, but pride provided a spring to her step and practically made her bounce up to Altaïr. “What now?” she asked, eager for another exercise.

“Now we give Al Mualim our evaluation. Come.” She followed the two men into the stronghold, actually taking the time to memorize its layout. The Mentor’s chamber was on the third floor and Altaïr made her wait outside, closing the door to mute their conversation. She strained to hear it but the wood was too thick, so she leaned against the stone wall with a sigh, letting the exhilaration of fighting fade away. It wouldn’t be too long before she experienced an adrenalin rush from besting someone who _really_ wanted to hurt her.

 _‘Can I truly learn to kill without feeling remorse?’_ she mused. _‘Can I end someone’s life as easily as Altaïr erased those Byzantine soldiers from the world?’_

She started a little when the door opened to deposit her trainers. “I look forward to instructing you!” Rauf declared, his bright expression proving his honesty.

Altaïr remained as straight-faced as usual. “You are an official Novice of the Order. Now we must outfit you.”

“Very well. Where is the armory? Did Rauf mention which weapon he believes would be best for me?”

The man blinked a few times, then scoffed lightly and shook his head. “I meant we need to change your _attire_ , Tülay. You cannot adequately train in a skirt.” He waited while she glanced down at herself and frowned. “I presume you can sew. There are seamstresses who can help you craft an outfit to mimic ours, though it should not impede your… natural abilities.”

Tülay put a thoughtful finger to her lips, picturing an amalgamation of her daily attire, a dance costume, and Altaïr’s garb. The color scheme would be easy enough to match, and she had permission to be liberal with the design. “I believe I must go to the market,” she stated.

Altaïr only had to look around for the briefest of moments before spying an apprentice scholar, the son of a higher-ranking member. "You!" he called, causing the boy to jump as he turned toward the loud voice. "What is your name?"

"I-I am Telash," he answered. Although he addressed the man, his eyes were fixated on the figure at his side. "What do you need, Master Altaïr?"

"I want you to take this girl to the market. Do not let her out of your sight. Do not let any lechers near her." He paused. "In fact, it would be best if you did most of the talking. Do you understand?"

"Yes!" he squeaked. With that Altaïr left the youths to their mission. Telash looked the girl up and down a few more times before realizing she eyed him warily. "S-so… are you a Novice?”

“As of a few minutes ago, yes.” Her narrow gaze dared him to make a comment, but Telash was too nervous about being in the presence of an attractive female. He didn’t get many opportunities to meet them since he spent most of his time studying in the library. After he stopped fidgeting he inclined his head toward the exit, and Tülay followed him out into the sunshine. Neither spoke until they were heading downhill toward the village.

“So, who are you? I mean, I know _who_ you are– everyone’s been talking about you. But what’s your name? Where did you come from?”

"My name is Tülay al-Mhámmed. I am from Antalya."

"Really? I've only seen maps of the north. What's it like?"

She waved flippantly. "Much more bearable than these lands. But when I left Konya, my home, it was occupied by invaders from beyond the mountains. I know your kind calls them Templars, and I came here to gain the strength to drive them out.”

“Well, not _every_ Crusader is a Templar,” Telash said. “Their Order is as old as ours yet much more exclusive. Their ranks are comprised of influential men from many nations, even those who appear to be at war with one another.”

Tülay mulled that over, then said, “But Templars are the ones who declared that Jerusalem belongs to the kings of Europe.”

“The Roman Catholic Pope said that,” the boy replied, “which is foolish, because there is actually very little evidence that proves Jesus was crucified there. I’ve been studying the Christian bible in an effort to understand what drives these men to believe they can claim an entire city in the name of their martyr when he strove for peace among _all_ men regardless of faith.”

Theology was not Tülay’s forte so she contributed nothing to the conversation, tuning the boy out to make a mental list of materials. Cotton, chiffon and silk would all suffice, but she might have trouble finding a high-quality sample. Masyaf was not as populous a city as Antioch or even Sis in the foothills of the Taurus Mountains, a stop for Silk Road merchants making their way to Konya. Some new sandals would be nice, perhaps leather with a suede insole…

She stopped and released a gasp. “I did not bring any money! I do not even know what coin you use!”

Telash chuckled. “Oh, don’t worry about it. As protectors of the city, provisions are free for us. None of the vendors would charge someone like you, anyway."

She fixated the boy with a glare. "What do you mean 'someone like me'?"

His face instantly warmed, and it wasn't due to the sun looming overhead. "I-I-I just mean… well… Honestly! Don’t you own a mirror? You have to know that you’re beautiful!"

Silence greeted his outburst. The clamor of commerce was just ahead, and Tülay held out her arm to stop him before they reached it. “I do not expect to survive in the world because of my appearance. I have earned everything I have by working for it, and now I hope to earn my place here– not by being beautiful or treated like a delicate flower, but by performing the tasks my rank requires. I do not desire special treatment of any kind.” Her lips turned up in a slight smile. “Tell _that_ to the men talking about me.”

“I…” Telash began to apologize, but stopped and gave her a nod. “Very well. Now, what kind of fabrics are you looking for?”

* * *

Altaïr had his own daily tasks to complete, but that did not mean he neglected to keep an eye on his disciple. He saw Tülay and Telash return from the village with a few bolts of fabric, then they both disappeared into the cool tailoring basement. The Assassins hired seamstresses and cobblers to manage their attire, and every man was individually fitted each time he outgrew the clothes denoting his rank.

By sunset the Master Assassin was pacing outside the entrance to the basement. Workers trickled out a few at a time, giving him questioning looks as they returned to their homes outside the fortress. A black-robed figure appeared and Altaïr nearly pounced on the young scholar, startling him. “Where is Tülay? What’s taking her so long?”

Telash’s surprise was replaced by smugness. He had seen the outfit come together, and Tülay was an excellent model. “She’s adding a few finishing touches, shouldn’t be long now.” Altaïr glowered as the boy released a yawn and made his way to the barracks; he’d had a long, exciting day.

Altaïr grunted his annoyance, folded his arms and leaned against the wall beside the arch. Finally, after the last two gossiping old women had passed him, he heard soft footsteps ascending the stairs. They hesitated at the threshold, then a vision of loveliness emerged from the shadows. Altaïr cleared his throat and the girl turned toward him. “I hope you find this acceptable,” she said, gaze falling to the ground.

He couldn’t help it– the first thing Altaïr inspected were her breasts framed by a black brocade vest with silver trim. Her shirt was an intriguing semi-sheer (though not in the area that mattered) chiffon piece with dagged elbow-length sleeves; it was cropped to reveal her abdomen, which he should have expected. She wore pants but the outseams were unstitched from her knees to the tops of her thighs. A fringed red scarf sat around her hips and atop her head was a Turkish pillbox hat with a veil, though it hardly succeeded in covering her hair.

“All that’s missing is your weapons,” Altaïr remarked after finding his voice. “I think you should keep using the Baladi scimitar. It seems natural in your hand.”

Tülay nodded in silent agreement. “What now?” she asked softly. They were the only ones outside the stronghold, the grounds bathed in the eerie light of a crescent moon.

“Now I show you to your room.” She raised an eyebrow, so he revealed the key Al Mualim had given him after granting her a place in the Order. This was yet another way she broke tradition: Novices didn’t get their own quarters, they had to stay in the barracks. But Altaïr didn’t trust a single one of them enough to leave Tülay alone with them, and the Mentor must have thought the same because he surrendered a key without any explanation whatsoever. Her room was on the level above his, the penultimate story of the spire, but they both paused at the mouth of the corridor leading to Altaïr’s abode.

“Thank you, Efendim,” Tülay said. “I know it is not much, but I feel as if wearing this outfit means I have made progress toward my goal.”

“There is still much for you to learn, if you so choose," Altaïr replied. "Your real training begins tomorrow. Heed me when I say it will be difficult, and don’t assume I’ll go easy on you because of your gender.”

The girl shook her head and smiled. “I expect to be adequately challenged, then. Sparring with Rauf was child’s play.”

He smirked at her arrogance, knowing it masked her anxiety. “In that case, _I_ expect you not to run home after a week. No whining, no tears.”

“You shall receive neither.” Tülay haughtily turned her nose in the air, earning a low chuckle from the man. “Good night, Efendim.”

She vanished up the staircase as silently as a ghost. Altaïr’s smile faded, and he stood there a few minutes more, waiting for something that wasn’t going to happen. He shook his head, went to his door, fumbled with the key because his fingers were suddenly so clumsy. Once inside he stared at a moonbeam illuminating his room. The cold, pale light made him shiver. Before he could stop himself he was standing beside the bed Tülay had slept in, leaning over the pillow that had absorbed her scent.

It was thrillingly feminine. She smelled of sugary dates, rich almonds, delicate rose water and a hint of vanilla. Altaïr straightened and scoffed at himself. What was he doing, dragging Tülay into his world? She was just an ordinary girl, not an Assassin in the making.  _'She chose to follow me… She wanted to learn my way of life.'_ A pathetic reason by all accounts. He could have taken her home with a meager amount of force.

Altaïr lay awake in the bed that for once felt so uncomfortable he almost moved to the floor, but he knew that was foolish and his muscles would protest in the morning. He looked across the room, wondering if he'd be able to fall asleep in that sweet scent. He stopped himself from rising and turned toward the wall with a grunt of resolve, closing his eyes to the intruding moonlight.


	5. Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cok uzuldum: I am very sorry  
> Allah kahretsin: God damnit  
> Bana bakmayin: don't stare at me  
> Tesekkur ederim: thank you

**Tribulation**

Al Mualim smiled when he heard a soft knock at his door. "Enter," he commanded. It slowly creaked open to reveal the face of the Anatolian girl, the one who should be meeting Altaïr for another day of training. "What do you need, child?" Her lips parted, then closed in a frown. "Say what is on your mind," the wizened man urged.

"The Templars..." Tülay finally stated. "What do they want? Why are you people dedicated to fighting them? I need to know what the purpose of it all is."

The Mentor had heard questions like these many times before, always by young men whose fathers served the Order. There was a point in their lives where they wanted to know what the meaning of their existence was, so Al Mualim told them. They left his chamber with a renewed sense of duty and this girl would be no different. "The purpose of our Order is to protect humankind," he calmly explained. "Assassins have been maintaining the correct course of history for hundreds of years. You have noticed the weapon on Altaïr's arm, yes? It was invented to end the tyranny of Xerxes the First, ruler of Persia. The man who did so was named Darius."

"I did not know that," Tülay breathed. "What other historical figures have been targets of Assassins?"

"Oh, many. Alexander the Great, Julius Caesar, Cleopatra of Egypt... Often it is those who promise to lead their people into the light that have the greatest darkness in their souls. People who are too weak-willed to live by their own rules are willing to live under  _any_  rule. The Templar Order has been trying to control mankind just as long as we have been trying to liberate it, but now we are both struggling to locate a weapon that may end this conflict."

"What weapon is that? The one you spoke of to Altaïr?"

Al Mualim nodded. "I sent him to your land to see if it might be in Frederick Barbarossa's possession, but I was wrong. This weapon is elusive. However, I know it does not lie within the empire of Salah al'Din, so I am sending my most skillful men to the east where I believe it wanders aimlessly."

Her brow knitted in confusion. "How can a sword wander by itself?"

The man in dark robes briefly shut his eyes, and when he opened them they looked a bit strange, as if he were bewitched. "It wanders aimlessly because it has a will of its own. The one who holds this weapon, the one whom both Orders desperately search for..." Then Al Mualim looked up into the girl's innocent visage. "...that unfortunate soul is a mere  _puppet_  of the sword."

Tülay sensed his search for the mysterious weapon was growing increasingly hectic by the day, so she chose not to assail him with any more questions and would propose them to Altaïr instead. The day was still young and she still had to get comfortable in her new attire. Those whom she passed did a double-take, not recognizing her feminine silhouette. But she was wearing the colors of their order to the best of her ability, so at least there was some semblance of belonging. "Efendim?" the girl called as she wandered around, "Where are you?" Altaïr said he would be waiting near the cliffs supporting the eastern wall, yet she didn't see him anywhere. Suddenly something cold and hard sent a shiver down her spine. The sharp edge of a blade lay against her throat, but it only took a moment to realize this was a lesson to be learned.

"The first rule of assassination..." Altaïr whispered into her ear, "Don't announce yourself." When Tülay whirled around the man could almost see how hard her heart was beating in her chest. She was certainly afraid, but she needed to know what it felt like lest she become the victim and compromise herself. A clear-thinking mind was one that could quickly figure a way out of any situation. "We're going to play a game of cat and mouse in the village. I will be the prey and you the hunter. I want you to sneak up on me just as I did to you. If you succeed three times, we can move on to something else."

Her lips curled into a confident smile and she indicated for Altaïr to get going. With that he headed downhill, joining a small group of masons on their way to a new building. His hearing was keen and his eyes sharp, and he noticed that people were staring at someone directly behind him. "You can't follow me that closely…" he said while whirling around, but faced a peasant girl instead. She flinched and Altaïr stepped back, bumping into someone who drew a finger across his throat. "That's one," the man awarded his novice. The second strike came surprisingly quickly because a commotion at a well drew the Assassin's attention. He thought perhaps his apprentice was dancing for the circle of wildly-cheering men, but when he got there he found two boys quarreling with fists. It was enough to distract him and allow Tülay to poke him in the back. Altaïr rewarded her with a grumble.

He then meandered for some time until spying her veiled headdress amid a group of gossiping women. Altaïr frowned and clapped a hand on her shoulder to berate her for standing around, but to his surprise it wasn't Tülay in the white outfit. "Got you!" she exclaimed while grabbing his arms, and he consented the victory. She exchanged clothing with the woman and followed Altaïr back to the fortress on light feet. "That was almost too easy, Efendim! You did not even try to stay out of sight even though you knew I was stalking you."

"The point is to make it within striking distance before your target discerns your motives. If you are subtle, silent and sure-footed, your blade will be sinking into his back before he realizes what is happening."

"That is how you kill a man?" They halted next to the training arena where Rauf was waiting. Altaïr saw the conflicted look on her face, one that questioned how it was possible for him to talk about ending life like it was some kind of art. It also wore doubt– how could a person like her ever murder somebody and continue on with a clear conscience? Altaïr did not know what to say, so he left in silence as Rauf summoned the girl for her exercises. Once again he wondered why she was here; why had he brought her to this place instead of sending her home? What could possibly have been the rationale for trying to turn Tülay into one of them?

 _'Perhaps she won't have to kill,'_  he thought while in his room. The record of her initiation was being added to.  _'She could be an informant, gather intelligence for us, deliver messages...'_  But the image of Tülay seducing a corrupt noble before ending his pathetic existence was prominent in his mind. As a dancer it would be so easy for her to enter Salah al'Din's tent –even though he had done nothing to provoke the Order as of late– and hold his attention while another Assassin delivered the fatal blow. Tülay wouldn't have to soil her hands with blood.

Unless she  _wanted_  to. When Altaïr discovered her in that harem she looked completely devoid of hope, resigned to whatever fate would befall her because of the Crusaders. There was not a single doubt in his mind that they intended to use her for sexual purposes as they marched toward the Holy Land. There would be no bargaining with men who didn't understand her language. They would have done vile, unspeakable evils unto her. No woman deserved such a fate. Altaïr would never wish such reviling acts upon anyone, and Tülay was so young! Actually, he argued, she was a little beyond the age where she  _should_  be married, but since she was an only child it made sense that Zanarhi wanted her to take care of her mother while he was traveling. Maybe she would have gotten married after he retired.

Either way, those men would have robbed Tülay of her innocence. Yet... was that not exactly what  _he_  was doing? Why hadn't he just sent her home?  _'Because she is safer with me than her parents...'_  Altaïr knew.  _'She is safer with me than being alone when her father is away. She is safer with me because I will not hesitate to kill a man.'_ And… there was another reason. In the furthest, deepest, darkest corner of his mind was the most selfish of reasons as to why he had brought Tülay here.

He wanted to see her dance again. He wanted to see her dance only for him. He wanted to stare deep into her eyes burning with passion and let all his senses be ensnared by her. Altaïr dropped the quill to place his hands tightly around his head as if the pressure would prevent the images from seeping into his mind. They weren't just visions of Tülay from Antioch, there were entire scenes of her naked body performing sultry movements all around him... and beneath him. He knew it was completely inappropriate to have such projections of the girl. She was his disciple, he her teacher. He lived by the Creed and it was his duty to impart its meaning unto her, a set of life skills ingrained into every fiber of her being. They were to be allies for the same cause, defenders of those who could not take up the sword themselves.

They could never be lovers. No matter what incarnation of Tülay traipsed across his mind, he must repress such feelings lest he become emotionally compromised, and _that_ was irrefutably unacceptable.

* * *

Far to the east of the Assassin Fortress, another man was having a fitful night's sleep. He had virtually no recollection of what he had done earlier that day and now, as he shut his eyes, macabre scenes played out before them. People running, shrieking in terror, fleeing from some menace so terrifying that women opened their mouths to scream in silence as he gazed down upon them.

Children stared at him devoid of all emotion, as if part of their minds built up walls to rein in the terror. And men charged at him with all manner of weapons, bewailing their hatred of his person as their eyes grew bloodshot with rage. What had he done to provoke them? He never knew. Each night he saw the same things and he never knew why.

 _"They are the humans whose souls you have taken,"_  the voice in his head said mockingly, like he was speaking to a daft child.  _"Every face you see has met their demise because of you."_

 _'I killed them?'_ the man inquired.  _'How could I kill them and not remember it?'_

 _"Because you do not really care,"_  the voice answered.  _"You do not care that they are dead. In fact, you rejoice at the slaughtering of innocents, because killing them makes me stronger."_

_'Then, who are you?'_

A grating, raspy laugh was the answer.  _"I am all that is you, now. I am you, and we are one. Your survival is more important than the life of any you have taken. We need their souls to survive."_

_'You’re saying... my life is worth more than any other?'_

_"Our life is much more deserved than any mortal in the world."_

_'So I must kill to continue living...'_  This now sounded right to the man and he felt foolish for questioning it.  _'I need... we need... more souls.'_

 _"Yesss..."_  the voice hissed.  _"We need many, many more souls. But some souls are richer than others. You must learn to sense these energies and follow them to their source. We will become so powerful if I devour such a soul..."_

The man grew excited at the thought. He had forgotten where he was but it was someplace outside, for when he turned on his back he faced stars.  _'What energies?'_  he pressed.

_"The soul of a warrior will grant us the strength we need. Their fighting spirit is what we need to ascend the shell of pathetic humanity. Once it is done, we will be as a god. We will have the power to shape this world as I see fit, and perhaps mankind will prove that it is worthy of surviving, if only to serve me."_

_'You mean us,'_  the man thought.  _'We are the same being. We will be the same god.'_ The voice released some kind of scoffing snarl and left the man to his own mind for the time being. One star seemed to flicker more brightly than the others and he thought he knew the name of it, but that information was no longer of value. The knowledge about the souls, though...  _that_ was useful.  _That_  was important.

Whatever he used to know no longer mattered. He had to focus on gathering enough souls to become the most powerful being in the world, and now that he knew what kind of souls to look for –the spirits of warriors– he could track them individually and cut them down. Or he could head toward higher concentrations and slay hundreds to gain massive amounts of energy all at once.

With that notion in mind, the man closed his eyes and focused on feeling the rush of a newly acquired soul. There were many in a village to the south of his current location, but none felt strong like that of a warrior. He expanded his mind even further and finally found the energy he sought.

To the west a great number of powerful souls called out. Their fighting spirit was phenomenal; whatever had brought all these soldiers to clash with one another was exactly what the man and the voice required. If they headed west, perhaps the time it took to become a god would be significantly lessened.

* * *

Today was the day Tülay learned balance. If she was clumsy she would fall to her doom, and it was safe to say no one residing in the Fortress wanted that. Except maybe Abbas, because it was the subject he found to annoy Altaïr the most. And while they traversed the path leading to a fantastic panoramic view of the valley behind Masyaf, Altaïr thought seriously of tossing the man down into it.

As they approached the end of the plateau where a river could be seen deep down within a crevasse, Altaïr was surprised to find a group of about ten men milling about. Some of them were apprentices trailing their masters and one even wore the robes of a scholar. "Don't you have research to be doing?" Altaïr growled. It seemed word of today's exercise for Tülay had spread and they were all here to witness it. The scholar only rolled his eyes and went back to speculating how long a fall to the river might be. From this ridge wooden beams stretched across the gorge to solid ground and a secretive tower on the other side. Altaïr had placed something in it late last night, and Tülay's goal would be to retrieve the gift.

"Where is she?" Abbas mocked. "Getting her beauty sleep?"

"I should stay your tongue with my fist..."

"Çok üzüldüm, Efendim," came Tülay's voice, and the men synchronized their move to face her. "I apologize for being late. Rauf wanted to speak to me." She bowed her head slightly to Altaïr, then cocked an eyebrow when she noticed the extra pairs of eyes on her. "What are...?"

"Pay them no mind," the Master Assassin instructed, "just focus on the task at hand. There is something for you in that tower. You must cross these beams carefully, then climb to the room at the top, retrieve the item, and return it to me here."

Her wide eyes traced the path she had to take. "Can I not just toss it to you from up there?"

The men snickered at her obvious fear. "It would be a shame to lose her lovely face to the rapids," Abbas said. His tone was a mixture of sarcasm and honesty, and Tülay frowned at his words. Little did they know she had a bit of acrobatic talent to her name courtesy of her maternal grandparents, and perhaps by unleashing these skills they would mock her no longer.  _Or_  Altaïr.

Tülay flexed her fingers and stretched thoroughly before stepping up to the first wooden beam. Altaïr stood back, knowing they were dry enough for her to find good footing, but there was still the possibility she might slip.  _'Please don't fall…'_ he willed.

Initially the girl thought about traversing the logs on just her hands but knew she didn't have the arm strength yet. Finally she took several steps back, then skipped forward, lunging so her palms landed squarely on the first beam. She performed two front handsprings, a round off, two back handsprings and a back tuck, which placed her at the start of a connecting beam. This one she straddled and did a few somersaults along before returning to her feet. Upon reaching the other side of the canyon she flipped and landed in a tiny cloud of dust. Smiling to herself that she recalled such skills, she turned to the figures on the opposite side.

Most of them stared, dumbfounded, at her gymnastic prowess. Even Altaïr had lifted his head to see better once he realized what she was doing, and as she neared the opposing rock shelf his mouth dropped open slightly. He was not usually impressed by feats of athleticism since he could scale stone walls and leap across rafters with ease, but Tülay had to be related to a circus acrobat! _'Now perhaps they'll leave him alone!'_  the girl thought, focusing on the next phase of her task. She jumped to grab one of the jutting bricks and hoisted herself up, keeping her head angled toward the sky to avoid looking into the river that was now even further below.

"Is she afraid of heights?" a familiar voice inquired. It was Telash; he must have abandoned his duties after hearing about the girl's test. Altaïr could not provide an answer for him. He watched Tülay climb halfway up the spire before her head moved toward him.

"Don't look down!" Abbas taunted. She tried so very hard to do as he said, but her eyes found themselves falling, falling, staring down into the canyon and the rushing water within. Her fingers suddenly felt weak and her legs wobbled slightly. It seemed as if the wind itself was trying to rip her off the tower and send her plummeting to her death. "Oh-ho!" the man cheered, "It seems she heard me! Look how she quivers!"

"Shut up!" Telash hissed through clenched teeth, and the older man looked at him in shock.

"How dare you tell your superior to shut up?!" He moved to strike the boy's face with the back of his hand, but Altaïr stepped in the way.

"Abbas, keep your mouth closed or I shall do it for you."

"Why you insolent—!"

Altaïr grabbed the man's tunic and hoisted him to eye level, scowling. "I am  _your_  superior. If you do not keep quiet from this moment onward, I will punish you in a manner befitting your disobedience. The insolent one is  _you_."

Warning decreed, he let the man go, immediately garnering a seething glare. The other men looked on nervously, wondering what he would do. Abbas made a wise decision to leave them and stomped off to the fortress. Telash grinned, which caused Altaïr's lips to turn upward ever so slightly in one corner. His victory smile. "Tülay!" the youth yelled, "Don't be afraid! Keep your eyes ahead, not behind you!"

 _'That_   _is much easier for you to say...'_  she thought.  _'You are not clinging to a tower of bricks a hundred feet above the ground!'_ Nevertheless, she turned her gaze skyward once more. She didn't have much farther to go until she would be able to stand in an open-air room at the top of the tower. She pushed onward, stretching her arms as far as she could and resting as much weight as possible on her feet. After what felt like an eon, her palm fell into the room. She scrambled up and splayed on the floor, letting the cool rock ease her trembling muscles. She rolled onto her stomach and glanced over the edge, then stood up slowly. Tülay realized just how high she was– she could see over the entire stronghold! She noticed a lake down by the village, something that had escaped attention until now. How good it would feel to be in it on this hot day...

Tülay searched for the thing Altaïr had left behind but, seeing nothing significant, she shuffled through the center of the room. There her foot struck something that skittered across the stone. She gasped at the object– it was a thin metal armband hammered into the symbol on Altaïr's left bracer, the triangle-like glyph. It was clearly large enough to fit snugly around her upper arm. Tülay smiled softly; it seemed Altaïr had this made just for her.

"What is taking so long? What is she doing?" Telash demanded of no one. The Master Assassin almost laughed; he sounded too worried for his own good. He wanted to tell the boy that whatever Tülay did was none of his concern, but Altaïr decided to entertain the youth's fascination with his pupil.

"Perhaps the wind blew her off the other side," he said dryly.

Grey eyes widened. "We would have heard her scream!"

"Not if it stole her breath away."

Telash glanced around nervously. "Someone should go up there and see if she's all right."

"Go right ahead," Altaïr motioned. The boy eyed the narrow wooden path to the other side of the canyon. He had yet to traverse it, but even for first-timers there were ropes strung about to help keep one's balance. Of course,  _Tülay_  hadn’t needed them…

"She is coming down!" the other scholar announced with an indicative finger. True enough, Tülay watched her back as she shimmied over the edge of the spire. She descended the tower even slower than she had scaled it, but a forceful wind was blowing down from the mountains, one that tossed her hair in her face. Then the unexpected happened: her shoe slipped and her right leg dangled in the open air. She shrieked and slid about a foot down until landing on a thin ledge. During the slide her pants caught on a sharp crag that ripped the side open, giving everyone a magnificent view of a silken undergarment.

The men below released a collective sound of approval, staring at Tülay's ass. "Allah kahretsin!" she shouted, using one had to push the sash down around her posterior. She shot a very pointed look at her audience. "Bana bakmayin!"

"What's she saying?" Telash giggled, a rosy hue overcoming his cheeks.

"I do not know," Altaïr answered, turning his head to make it seem as if he had not seen how shapely her backside was. Tülay practically jumped the rest of the way to the ground, and once there was a solid surface beneath her feet she didn't stop glaring daggers at everyone across the gorge. But irritation quickly gave way to uncertainty as she made to cross and realized how off-balance the wind made her. She hunched down low, extending her arms out to either side, and trod carefully. As she neared the plateau, Altaïr offered his hand and the girl accepted it with a sigh of relief.

"She has potential," an old archer winked, clapping his palm over Altaïr's shoulder.

"Yes, I'd keep an eye on her at all times," the scholar said, looking somewhat ashamed of himself. He didn't get the chance to see many women, though, so his enchantment was at least understandable. Telash looked as if he wanted to say something but since Tülay was showering Altaïr with gratitude, he thought better of it and left without a word. The man and girl were soon the only ones overlooking the canyon and beautiful valley beyond Masyaf.

"I had this crafted for you," the Master Assassin stoically explained, although he was happy she liked it. "We all wear the symbol of our Order, now you can as well."

Her eyes sparkled with joy. "I adore it. But did you know, Efendim..." Tülay suddenly blushed. "In my homeland, when a man gives a woman jewelry, it means he thinks of her as a potential bride." She raised an eyebrow at him and he coughed.

"Thankfully that is not the tradition here," Altaïr managed. "Wear our symbol with pride. Honor it always. I am glad it fits." Indeed, the accessory looked nice encircling her freckled, leanly-muscled upper arm.

Tülay gazed at him expectantly. "What other training do I have today?"

The man shook his head. "Nothing. You have shown me that you move well–"  _'And are well-shaped...'_ "–so the remainder of the day is yours. Visit the library, speak with the scholars, train with Rauf. Whatever you like."

"So... I could go to the lake by the village?" When Altaïr nodded she beamed at him. "Teşekkür ederim." She respectfully lowered her head before leaving him alone on the plateau. There was something he had to do that he kept putting off. Tülay had been here for a week and her parents were probably worried sick. He had to send a message informing them she was well.

* * *

In Al Mualim's tower was a coop of carrier pigeons. The birds were regularly used to send and receive messages from the rafiqs in Damascus, Acre and Jerusalem, but there were no Assassin bureaus in Konya. As Altaïr finished sealing his letter the elder accepted it with a slight sigh. "I shall send a courier at first light. They will know the girl is safe."

"Thank you, Master." Altaïr bowed and started for the door of the chamber, but he paused as the aged voice spoke once more.

"Do you still believe she belongs here, Altaïr?"

"Yes," he replied earnestly, "Tülay is progressing well. I believe the time will soon come when she deserves a real assignment."

"And what if she fails?"

Without an ounce of hesitation, he answered, "She will not fail me."


	6. Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haydi ya: good grief  
> 

**Faith**

Tülay's energetic walk nearly turned into a skip as she entered the village, making a mental list of things to acquire before heading to the lake.  _'Loofah, burlap, Argan oil, mint julep, definitely a comb…'_  Truthfully she was going there to bathe, not swim. Tülay did not know how to swim, but had sneaked into the sultan's garden before and drifted in an enormously deep fountain.

The vendor selling the hairbrush Tülay was interested in eyed her suspiciously. He was an older man, perhaps fifty years of age, who wore a dull blue turban to shield his head from the blazing sun. While the girl browsed his wares he folded his arms and scoffed. "So the Assassins are training women now, eh? You don't look like a killer to me. In fact, you look like one of those girls that laze about in Al Mualim's garden smoking argila."

Tülay gave him a sharp look. "I assure you, I am under the tutelage of Master Altaïr. I know not of this 'argila'."

"Flavored tobacco?" the man suggested.

"Oh!" she laughed, "You mean  _shisha_. That is what it is called in my homeland. No, I am not one of those women attached to the hookah all day."

Her innocent giggle seemed to take the edge off and the man lowered his arms. "Your clothing makes it obvious you're a foreigner. Where are you from?"

"Antalya," she answered. "I was born in the capital of the Seljuk Sultanate of Rüm. I came here because..." Tülay hesitated, gazing up at the fortress. Where might Altaïr be at this moment? "I came here to learn to combat the Crusaders. They have taken over my home and my people live in fear."

For the first time it occurred to Tülay that she had not contacted her parents since coming to Masyaf. Even in Antioch she had been too busy enjoying her newfound freedom to –dare she say it–  _care_  about them. Had her father returned from his latest escort? Was her mother all right without her? What if the same thing happened to her– what if the Crusaders had abducted her, too? _'What am I doing here? L_ _earning how to become a slayer of men? Letting Altaïr teach me the art of killing?'_  She shook her head and the man chuckled. The action seemed completely random.

"Did you say  _Altaïr_  was your master?"

Most of her misgivings were banished. "Yes... yes he is." Now it was Tülay's turn to regard the man interestedly. He stroked his short beard while one dark eye narrowed in reminiscence.

"Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad. Yes, I remember that name. I was closely acquainted with his father, Umar, before he joined the Order.

"Altaïr's father?" the girl breathed. Her teacher never mentioned anything about his father! "Where is he? I must tell him– Umar you said? He should know what his son has done for me!"

The merchant gave her a look of pity. "Dear girl, Umar is dead. Altaïr's father was beheaded, oh, at least twenty years ago."

"B-b- _beheaded?_ " she stammered in shock. She now felt incredibly sorry for Altaïr, knowing he had never known anything but the Order while she had been raised by two loving parents. Maybe that was why he had allowed her to host him: perhaps he wanted to see what it was like to be part of a normal family. "Effendi…" Tülay stared imploringly into the vendor's eyes. "You must tell me how his father died. I think it would help me understand him a little better." The last part she spoke quietly, more to herself than anyone else, but the man still caught it.

"I hope this is not a case of the student falling in love with the teacher," he warned.

Tülay flushed and waved her hands vigorously. "Haydi ya! Of course not!"

The man chuckled. "Very well. My name is Jemali." He motioned to the curtain-covered doorway beyond his stall. "Please come in, and I shall tell you what I remember about Umar."

"I am Tülay al-Mhámmed. Thank you." She followed Jemali into his home; it was not as if he had much business until she arrived. A pair of nice rugs was laid out on either side of a short table. Upon it sat a cold teapot and two empty cups with stale leaves at the bottom. Luckily Jemali had been brewing a fresh batch of tea, which he brought into the sitting room along with two clean cups. He filled them and handed one to Tülay. "Thank you," she said from a cross-legged position, and took a rather tentative sip. The tea was surprisingly sweet and had a hint of orange rind that left a slightly bitter taste on the sides of her tongue.

"Different from Anatolian tea, isn't it?" the man smiled. He received a nod and Tülay continued to sip, so he got situated on a cushion and gave a long sigh. "We were born right here in Masyaf," was the nostalgic beginning. "My mother and father were potters, and I grew up next to Umar and his family. They had a daughter whose name I cannot recall, but she was fortunate enough to marry a rich merchant in Acre. When the Assassins first came here, they were led by a man named Rashid ad-Din Sinan from Aleppo."

"Al Mualim?" Tülay interrupted.

He nodded slowly. "Yes, your kind calls him the Mentor. He was much younger in those days, younger than my own father, and he had great plans for our small town. Every villager worked alongside the Assassins to help build their fortress. I assume that is where you live now, yes? Well, Rashid wanted to be able to look out his window over all of Masyaf. He said his Order was here to protect us, and all we had to do was share some of our resources." Jemali paused to drink some tea, though he coughed it back up when he noticed how intensely the girl was staring at him. Each sentence he spoke formed a picture in Tülay's mind, taking her back in time.

"Umar had always desired to be part of something important, so the Assassins seemed an answer to his prayers. Rashid personally requested the boy begin training to become a member of his Order, and his parents agreed. Although I was sad to see him leave, I knew I was not born with the fortitude to live as they do, as your kind do. But after a couple months Umar returned to show he had not forgotten about me. I gave him the most pathetic clay sculpture of a bird but he accepted it as if he'd never received a present before.

"The years rolled on," Jemali sighed. "My mother died, my father and I grieved, and since I was no great artist he was unable to keep business going. When he left for Damas to see if he could make a new fortune, I stayed here alone. But then Umar appeared at my door, again without warning, with his son in his arms." Tülay couldn't help but smile as she imagined what Altaïr looked like as a baby. "He was a very healthy child, quite a strong grip as I recall, even though his mother died giving birth. Umar told me he had named him Altaïr, the Flying One, because his eyes were sharp like those of a hawk. And now those Assassins wear pointed hoods like the beaks of raptors, don't they?"

"Yes..." the girl replied a bit dreamily.

"That boy was raised with a sword in his hand. Umar showed me the weapon called the Hidden Blade and the mechanism that operates it. I thought it strange that one's finger had to be removed, but I suppose it is better to lose it willingly than cut it off yourself by accident." Jemali waved flippantly. "Anyway, about twenty years ago Salah al'Din, brought his army to Masyaf. Rashid issued a warning and the villagers made it safely behind the walls of their great fortress before the Saracens arrived. We were under siege for several days until a man named Shihab declared he wanted to speak of peace. Rashid only told them to leave, but the Saracens had another plan.

"Shihab said that one of their noblemen had been killed, obviously by an Assassin, and they wanted the murderer's life in exchange for the one they lost, then they would leave. Rashid was unwilling to give up the life of any of his men, so Shihab marched a captive forward for all to see."

"Who was it?" Tülay breathed, leaning so far forward the table dug into her chest.

"I did not know the man," Jemali answered, "but whomever he was, Umar decided to take his place. In shock I watched as the Saracens released the captive and Umar walked toward them with his head held high. Then, in one fell swoop of a blade, he was gone. That same evening Salah al'Din led his soldiers out of Masyaf, and life basically returned to normal. Well, except that my father never returned and I knew very little of how Umar's son was growing up."

Tülay sat back when it became apparent the story was finished. Jemali was old so perhaps he had forgotten a few details, but it seemed Altaïr had rather noble boots to fill. For Umar to sacrifice himself to save a member of the Brotherhood showed true courage– he hadn't feared death at all. "Thank you very much for sharing this tale, Jemali. It seems that Umar was a great man, and I think his son is, too. Maybe I can persuade him to visit you someday soon."

The old man guffawed hoarsely. "I won't hold my breath waiting for him! But thank you for offering, child." Jemali set his empty teacup down as the girl stood to leave. "Say, what was it that you wanted in the first place?"

Her clothing billowed as she spun around. "Hm? Oh, I was looking for a brush."

"Well, I don't believe that counts as sharing a resource, but seeing as I have some available, you may have one."

The girl grinned. "Any brush I want?" The one she was interested in had fine bristles and an ivory handle. When Jemali nodded she lunged across the table to give him a hug. "Thank you!"

"Yes, yes..." he mumbled, blushing a little. "Now get out of here and get on with your day. No sense in wasting any more time with this old man. Don't you have training to do?" Still, he smiled as the girl turned back to offer a grateful look; not for the hairbrush but for sharing his knowledge of the past, which was far more valuable.

* * *

Tülay finally arrived at the lake. She had been gone from the fortress for over an hour, but Altaïr  _had_  said she could do whatever she wanted for the remainder of daylight. Although most of the body of freshwater was encircled by sandstone houses, Tülay followed the shore to a private little bay almost directly beneath the cliff upon which the first turret of the fortress was built. A burbling stream seeped from the rock, feeding directly into the lake. Tülay assumed it was an offshoot of some mountain river.

Checking her surroundings once more to make sure she was really alone, Tülay untied her sandals and took off her headdress, shaking her hair loose. It was oily, stringy, and did not smell at all pleasant. Lifting an arm caused an odorous stench to assail her nose.  _'I definitely need this!'_  she thought before undressing and entering the water. She stood on smooth pebbles that massaged her feet and she couldn’t help but sigh in satisfaction.

She filled the burlap pouch with mint julep and other assorted herbs, drizzled in Argan oil from Marrakech and mashed the contents together to work up an aromatic lather, which she rubbed all over her body. Little bubbles formed a ring around her until she dunked her head and furiously scrubbed her scalp. A flat rock served as a chair for her to sit on and untangle her hair as it dried quickly in the high sun. She recalled that the last time she put this much effort into her appearance was for a feast at the palace. What a rousing night that was; everyone had enjoyed dancing to a talented group of traveling musicians.

Tülay missed the music of her homeland; the Sultanate was very diverse and as such she had been exposed to various forms of it throughout her life. Many songs were to be played during celebrations such as marriages and birthdays, but there were certain melodies performed for private audiences. An intimate dance was how her parents had met. While traveling along the coast, Zanarhi intercepted a small caravan transporting jewels for the sultan, then Ma'sud, from the Rajput kingdom. He fought off brigands attempting to rob the caravan and when they returned to the capital Ma'sud invited him to stay for a night of feasting and entertainment, and his service to the sultanate became official.

Ayla was born to a couple of migrant Nawari acrobats who were very poor because they could not find a troupe to join in Konya, but Ma'sud decreed that if they would allow Ayla to join his seraglio her parents would never go hungry again and they could comfortably live out the remainder of their lives. As selfless as she was, Ayla agreed.

When Ma'sud was killed in battle in 1156 his son, Kilij Arslan, took the throne. Zanarhi continued to protect the sultan's men and was frequently invited to the palace for festivities. During a performance by a few harem girls of notable talent, Zanarhi spied Ayla among them. He was so focused on her movements that he didn’t hear Arslan’s remark about recognizing Zanarhi from when he was a child, although he had seasoned greatly. "It is time you found a bride and filled your home with the laughter of children," Arslan said. "Any woman in this empire can belong to you."

"Her..." Zanarhi pointed, enraptured. "She is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. What is her name?"

Ayla was introduced to the man a few years her senior, but he showed her more respect than Arslan's other guests. Although there was desire in his eyes Zanarhi kept his hands to himself, letting the dance entwine his heart and soul. In 1168 the two were wed. Arslan happily released Ayla from the role of concubine, (he never really had time to utilize the harem, anyway), and she took Zanarhi to meet her parents who, though old, were quite jovial. He was more than willing to listen to Ayla's father speak at length about their Rom heritage, a people who reveled in artistic expression through music, song and dance.

Tülay thought the story of her parents’ meeting held a bit of forbidden-romance nostalgia, a classic story of a courageous warrior falling in love with a beautiful harem girl; what could be more like a fairy tale? Her grandparents passed away when she was young, but they had regaled her with such stories every time she came to visit. As a result Tülay had wanted to grow up a princess and fall in love with a handsome warrior who laughed in the face of danger.

But as conflict with the Byzantine Empire continually raged around them, she began to realize the difference between fantasy and reality. Arslan, while a magnificent commander in arms, was a terrible politician. They were at war, they were at peace. Land was usurped, land was reclaimed. He even held a nobleman hostage and demanded an enormous ransom! She had been raised with the silent fear that their home would be devastated if Arslan ever failed to defend them. He was not the type of warrior she wanted.

Tülay lifted a hand to shade her sight. There were few scars marring her knuckles and she could perfectly recall the duels with her father in which she earned them. Admittedly she had forgotten most of the training since she had not practiced in so long, but with Rauf's tutelage the scimitar began to feel natural in her hand once more. She liked Masyaf. For the first time since understanding how cruel the world could be, she felt at ease. She didn't have to walk down the street with an eye at her back, watching out for slavers. She didn't have to hide around corners when battalions of soldiers marched by. And she didn't really feel threatened by any of the men of the Assassin Order.

She braided her hair, redressed, and gathered her grooming items, then returned to the fortress feeling very invigorated. Things were working out all right, and life in Masyaf wasn't terribly different from Konya. _'Not yet, at least... But I know there will be many challenges for me to overcome.'_

* * *

Telash paced at the arched entrance to the stronghold, brow furrowed and attention on the ground. His head snapped up when he heard footsteps approaching. "Tülay! There you are! I have been looking for you all afternoon!"

"You have?" she asked, not without a note of suspicion. "What for?"

"I..." His voice died out and he suddenly leaned forward as if to claim her lips, but he only closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. With a slight blush Tülay took a step back. "You smell divine!" Telash exclaimed.

"Um, thank you... What was it that you wanted?" She waited for his besotted expression to pass.

"Oh, Al Mualim has summoned you. I was going to escort you to his quarters."

The girl frowned slightly. "I wonder what he requires of me?"

"Let us find out," Telash smiled, and gently took her by the hand as if they were running off to hide from the rest of the world. Tülay let him lead her through the stronghold even though she had memorized its many passages by now. They passed the armory just as Altaïr was leaving it.

The man glanced up when he heard feet clambering up the stairs. He could see that Telash was very eager to show her something, for he took the steps two at a time, but he was practically dragging Tülay because she was not nearly as energetic. The connection of their hands made his jaw tighten, and he followed them upstairs before he could question why exactly this sight was so enraging. He found Telash waiting outside the door to Al Mualim's office, bouncing on his toes. "What are you doing here, boy?" the Master Assassin sternly inquired.

"Al Mualim requested an audience with Tülay," he explained, looking innocent enough.

"Why was it necessary for you to bring her? Was she unable to walk?"

"Well, no..."

"Does she not know the way to Al Mualim?"

"Of course she does."

He folded his arms. "So unless Tülay is injured or otherwise incapable of carrying herself around, you need not concern yourself with her."

The youth dared to shoot him a look of defiance. "Al Mualim asked me to find Tülay,  _Master_  Altaïr. I was just following  _orders_."

Telash's condescending tone almost made his blood boil, but just as Altaïr would have berated him further the door opened to reveal their wise leader. "Ah, you are here. Please come in. Your apprentice was most timely in her arrival."

Altaïr strutted by the scholar and sneered when the door was closed in his face.  _'Keep your hands to yourself from now on,'_  he should have said, and probably still would once the meeting was finished. Tülay offered a smile as her teacher came to stand beside her. While Al Mualim sat down the Master Assassin sniffed the air. What was that intoxicating smell? Incense?

"Altaïr…" the Mentor began, addressing his most favored disciple first, "it has come to my attention that your apprentice has been progressing quite well. I happened to look out a window the other day and see how focused she was while traversing the canyon." Upon hearing these words Tülay immediately thought:  _"Oh no! Did he see my pants rip?"_ And Altaïr thought:  _"I hope he didn’t see her ass."_ Thankfully Al Mualim made no mention of it as he continued. "And Rauf has told me you are rather adept with the scimitar..."

"Thank you," Tülay gushed.

"...Buthe does not think the weapon suits you. In fact, I have been keeping a close eye on you, Tülay. You move much differently than any of my men. As a woman you are naturally graceful, and clearly well-balanced. You carry yourself with humility instead of arrogance, which allows you to go mostly unnoticed." The man in black robes stood up then, and master and student waited with bated breath. "With that notion in mind, I believe you are the ideal agent we need to infiltrate the Templar force in Jerusalem."

It took a moment to comprehend his meaning. "You want Tülay to become an informant already?" Altaïr clarified. "She has too much left to learn."

"I do not want her to develop a close relationship with anyone, only that she slip among their ranks and keep her ears open for any words regarding that weapon."

"You mean enter their private lives where they speak freely of such things." Altaïr was not happy with this plan.

Al Mualim's gaze informed him this was the course of action that  _would_  be taken regardless of his protests. "I already have a man who has gained their trust, a scribe. Tülay would stay with him in Jerusalem and let herself become popular. The city’s leaders enjoy surrounding themselves with all that is beautiful."

Tülay nervously transferred her weight to the other foot as Al Mualim's motive sunk in. Altaïr's fists were clenched tightly together– the plan was too dangerous, especially if she were to go unarmed. He decided to say so. "She could not fend them off... if an advance were to become too zealous."

Al Mualim held up a finger informing the man he already had a solution. "That is why she will be going with  _this_." It was a Hidden Blade, but instead of attaching to her leather bracer it hid within a long silver cuff. "Armor would be too conspicuous for her," the Mentor explained with a knowing look. "What is the second tenet of the Creed?"

"Hide in plain sight," Altaïr recited, his pride diminishing slightly. "Become one with the people around you." Tülay half-smiled at her master's expertise while internally questioning why she did not know these tenets.

"Very good. Ultimately, Tülay, the decision to go to Jerusalem is yours and yours alone, but understand that serving our Order is the reason why you are here. It is the reason why Altaïr is your teacher. In time it could become the very reason your heart continues to beat. You are not a slave to the Creed, you are an embodiment of it, and your actions must guide mankind down the right path. Seek to help those who cannot help themselves, and always remember that you are here because you willingly accepted the hand of  _this_  man."

Tülay followed his open palm to Altaïr, who continued to stare at the ground. He wanted her to trust Altaïr and by extension trust Al Mualim, the living embodiment of the Order. "You two may leave now," the Grand Master said. "I expect to hear your acceptance or denial of the mission soon."

Together they ducked their heads and left the chamber in solemn silence. Altaïr thanked Allah that Telash was gone as he brought a hand up to stop the girl. "I must speak with you in private. Come."

"Where are we going?" she wondered. After a minute of receiving no answer she released a huffy breath and followed the man in silence. Toward the canyon they went, Tülay having the unpleasant feeling of déjà vu. As they approached the edge of the cliff Altaïr didn't break stride and leaped across to one of the beams, using momentum to push himself forward to each in turn, and was surprised to hear the softer feet of the girl keeping pace.

He quickly scaled the tower having memorized the handholds long ago. When he reached the top the posted guards offered quizzical looks, but then they saw Tülay hoist herself up over the edge and knew the duo must have come for training purposes. The girl eyed him expectantly, so Altaïr approached one of the wooden platforms extending into open air several hundred feet above the ground below. "It is time for a Leap of Faith," he said. "Prove your loyalty to me."

A couple of the guards snickered as Tülay cautiously stood at the edge of the center platform, judging the fall to the thick haystacks positioned (she hoped) perfectly beneath them. "You want me to jump from this tower to presumably land exactly in one of those piles of straw?"

She didn't even try to keep the skepticism from her voice– it was an insane request. Even so, Altaïr nodded resolutely. "Don't you trust me? I  _am_  your teacher."

"If I were you, I would not ask me that," Tülay grimaced, feeling her mind reel as she looked down again. "It is much too long a drop to be safe!"

Altaïr grinned. He turned to face the horizon, his arms spread wide. And with a slight push from his toes, he leaned forward until he had left the perch and was plunging head-first toward the ground.

Tülay gasped and ran over to the spot he'd fallen from with one hand on the pillar for support. Her wide eyes watched the man slowly turn head over heels until he landed, throwing twisps of hay into the air.  _'He has broken his back! His neck! His legs!'_   Tülay's thoughts were frantic.  _'He must be dead!'_

"It's your turn!" the Master Assassin called from below. He had to cup his hands around his mouth to project his voice so far. "Have faith in me!"

Tülay gulped down air her lungs seemed to be lacking. Have faith in him? She did, but not when there was a possibility of imminent death by throwing herself from this tower!

If Altaïr thought Tülay couldn't handle the Leap of Faith, he wouldn't have brought her here. He wouldn't have shown her how to do it. He wouldn't tell her she  _could_  do it. A tiny thread of courage wound around her fear until it had been balled up, and Tülay stepped onto the wooden ledge. She had fallen down from trees before, but she never climbed too far above the surface of the earth. Really, there was nothing she could compare her feelings to at this very moment.

What if she did land safely on the ground? What would it prove? What if she didn't jump out far enough and fell short of the haystack? What if she jumped too far and overshot it? What if her sandal got caught on a splinter and threw off her balance?

The last was unlikely, but Tülay was still fearful. She knew every minute she delayed would make Altaïr more upset that she didn't trust him. So finally, after mentally arguing with herself for several minutes, she quelled all her doubts and just gave in to the wind swirling about her feet, which were slowly detaching themselves from the high perch, and then there was nothing around her at all.

Air tore through her clothes, swept her hair back, battered the eyes she kept tightly shut. It felt like her brain was falling out of her head. But then the mid-air somersault was complete and Tülay yelped as her backside landed on the not-so-padded pile of horse fodder. Beside her, Altaïr wore a look that said he was genuinely impressed; he had expected the girl to keep delaying the leap or not try it at all.

Altaïr gripped her waist and lifted her from the mound of fresh straw. She wasn't as heavy as a man so she didn't sink in as far, but it was still hard to stand up in. "Thank you," Tülay muttered when her feet were on solid ground once more. She busied herself by brushing stray yellow strands from her attire.

"Do you know what this means?" Altaïr asked his pupil, who finally trained her gaze on him. "It means you have faith in not only me, but the Order, your peers, and yourself as well. I want you to know..." Here he paused to suck in air so he wouldn't regret his next words. "If you choose to journey to Jerusalem for Al Mualim, I will go with you. I will protect you as best I can if your intentions are brought to light."

"Y-you will?" the girl stuttered. She was obviously relieved, so much so that before Altaïr realized it her arms had encircled him tightly. "I could not go without you, Efendim."

The man cleared his throat. “Ah-hem. You cannot do that in public, Tülay. Just as I shall stay out of sight for you,  _you_  must not acknowledge my presence at all."

She let him go and tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear along with offering him an eye roll. "Because it would compromise you? I understand."

"No, because you would compromise  _yourself_. If you are unable to focus on the task at hand, which is to find out if Jerusalem's leaders are harboring that weapon, then you could be captured and tortured. And if you reveal to them that the scribe is one of us as well, it will set off an entire chain of killings." He took a deep breath to dismiss the harshness in his tone. "What I mean is that you are going to be deeply immersed in enemy territory. There is no room for error. If you can prove successful to Al Mualim, you may receive a great reward or even rise to the rank of Assassin."

Tülay raised an eyebrow. "Is that how you became a Master?" He nodded. "How did you do it?"

"I saved Al Mualim from a betrayer of our Order."

There was obviously more to that story but Tülay decided not to pursue the details. "I see. It has been a long day, and I am tired." She took several strides up the path before remembering something, spinning to face him once more. "You should go see a man named Jemali in the village. He wants to meet you again."

Altaïr frowned though the girl missed it in the shadow of the high cliffs encompassing them. Who was this 'Jemali' and why had Tülay been conversing with the peasants? Why had she been talking about  _him_  to a non-member of the Brotherhood? The expression she wore when she made the suggestion revealed that she knew something he did not, and there should never be secrets between master and disciple.

So instead of heading to the dining hall to fill his growling stomach, Altaïr left the fortress behind, making his way into the town of modest merchants and craftsmen. The sun was beginning to set; if he did not locate the man quickly it would be too late and everyone would be asleep. Altaïr had the strangest feeling that Tülay had some revelation about  _him_. He couldn't exactly say why, but that was what her eyes told him. They looked at him with a little bit of pity, which disturbed him greatly.


	7. Five

**Antagonist**

Tülay’s mind crafted a vivid dream as she slept. In her homeland she had been born a princess who was kept locked away from the world. Her father, the sultan, decreed she was too beautiful to be seen by the public because every man who gazed upon her became consumed by lust. Marrying the princess would also give them a claim to the throne. Day in and day out Tülay waited in a garden sanctuary for her true love to appear. This man would be stealthy enough to evade the palace guards, agile enough to navigate the labyrinth leading to the garden, and honorable enough to kiss her hand instead of her lips.

To pass the time the princess sang, not realizing how far her voice carried. One day a carpenter’s son happened to be walking by the palace and heard a lament that made him stop in the middle of the street. “No one should sound so sad when they sing,” he said out loud. “Why does no one try to comfort her?”

“Because she’s the princess!” a wizened man responded. “Like the heavens above, she is unattainable.”

“That doesn’t mean she is undeserving of joy.” The young man resolved to sneak into the palace and go to her, so he could make her laugh and sing happier tunes. That night he acquired several tools to ensure he reached his destination. Darts laced with a mild sedative helped him take out the guards; he certainly did not want to kill anyone. A grappling hook helped him over pits of spikes and venomous snakes. He eventually found himself standing on a carpet of plush grass dotted with fruit trees, ponds and gazebos. One of the structures had a light shining from within walls of chiffon curtains. The man closed his eyes and listened to the sad song lilting over the area.

The lament abruptly cut off when the princess heard a footstep outside. She hurriedly stood, feeling her heartbeat increase as the booted feet came closer. The young man saw her frozen silhouette and knelt. "Princess," he said in a clear, strong voice, "I have come because I wish to hear you sing out in joy instead of despair."

She parted the curtains and saw the young man who had risked his life to see her. He was humbly dressed and kept his head angled at the ground. "You are a carpenter," she said after a minute. "What could you offer my father if he allows you to marry me?"

"I am only concerned with your well-being, Princess," he answered. "You are a prisoner here, so I would take you out into the world. I would build you a new palace with my own two hands. It may not be as extravagant, but it would be your sanctuary."

"Why are you willing to spend so much time and energy on someone you do not know?"

The young man thought for a moment. "I believe your voice can bring much joy to others, but first you must know joy. I will do whatever it takes for you to attain it." Then he held up a hand. Tülay placed hers in his palm and he stood, head still bowed as he kissed the top of her middle finger, and she was so moved by his selflessness that she began to shed tears of happiness. She had a savior, a friend, a prince whose features were surely as noble as his soul...

Altaïr recoiled when the girl reached for his face. "Tülay,  _wake up!_ " Though whispered it was harsh enough to make her blink several times as she adjusted to reality. She rubbed her eyes veiled by sleep and moonlight.

"Efendim?" she groaned. "What are you doing in here?"

The Assassin was rather perturbed. He had just returned from a long conversation with Jemali, the old man who told Tülay about his father. Very few members of the current Brotherhood were alive to remember how Umar Ibn-La'Ahad had died and certain events following it, and Altaïr wanted to keep it that way.

The girl was fully awake now and frowned at his aggravated pacing. "What do you want? What are you doing in my room?" The aura he emitted certainly put a damper on the nice dream she was having.

"What makes you think..." he growled, attempting to rein in his wrath, "that it is acceptable for a  _novice_ of the Order to speak to  _commoners_  about the private lives of their superiors?"

Tülay sat up a little, revealing bare shoulders. No– she was wearing more silk, a violet hue he couldn’t define in the darkness. "You met Jemali?"

His reply was terse. "Yes, I spoke with that man."

"He grew up with your father, Efendim. I asked about him because you never mentioned him."

"That is because my father is  _dead_ , Tülay."

She looked confused as to why they were having this conversation. "That does not mean you never need to talk about him."

"Didn't Jemali tell you how he died?"

"He... was executed."

Altaïr's knuckles were turning white.  _"Beheaded!"_  he shouted. "Beheaded under the order of Salah al'Din!"

Tülay set her feet upon the cold floor as she stared up at Altaïr, trying to understand his anger. "He traded his life for another member of the Order. It was selfless sacrifice."

The Assassin rounded on her, appearing even larger since he was inflated with rage. "And do you know what happened to that man, Tülay?  _Do you?!_  He slit his own throat right in front of me!" Her eyes widened and Altaïr continued, every muscle tense. "In my room, in the very spot where the bed you slept in stands, is where he cut himself open and bled to death. As a child I watched the life drain out of him until it spread out over my floor!"

The memory of Ahmad's blank, staring eyes was almost too much to handle, and Altaïr slammed his hand down upon the nightstand, causing Tülay to shrink back. "Wh-why would you tell me this, Altaïr?" she wavered.

"I thought instead of talking to  _strangers_  who know nothing about me, I would tell you myself! And then you won't look at me like I'm some urchin worth pitying!”

Tülay stood up brusquely, shoving her face into that of her teacher’s. "Are you saying the only reason you came into my room to wake me up in the  _middle of the night_  is because someone told me how your father died, which is some great  _secret?_ " Amber eyes narrowed to slits. "I just wanted to learn more about you!"

"And now you know that I have no family," the man glowered, turning away. "Unlike you I was not raised a rich and spoiled child."

Tülay planted her hands on her hips as she prepared a fiery retort. "Without your father around, you were raised to become an arrogant son of a jackal!" Her words were like a torch falling into a pit of oil. Altaïr lunged at the girl, knocking her back onto the bed, and held her wrists in an iron grip. She tried to get free but of course the man was too strong. "You are hurting me!" she shrieked.

"You hurt me first," the man coldly returned. "Don't _ever_ go behind my back again."

Tülay tried to kick him off but her ankles were pinned as well. Then she realized it was futile to force him away with violence and exhaled suddenly, relaxing her whole body. For a moment Altaïr wondered if she had fallen unconscious. Then she spoke, calmly and softly in the darkness. "You did not want me to find out about your father's death... because he died for no reason. Is that it?"

The Assassin loosened his grip. "He gave his life for someone who only ended up wasting such a precious gift..." He scoffed. "Our kind, above all others, knows that time is only borrowed. We all have to make a difference in the world before it runs out."

"Very wise..." she whispered. Neither of them said anything after that, letting the night dissolve their remaining agitation. Tülay understood what she had done was wrong; she should have just _asked_ Altaïr what happened to his family. She understood that knowing this secret made him feel vulnerable, and his reaction was the result of being raised in a society where one had to suppress their emotions. _'Maybe it is good for him to express it,'_ she reasoned. There was the brief, mad notion of giving him an apologetic kiss on the cheek, but he would probably spurn it. "Altaïr, how did you get in here? My door is locked and I have the only key."

He looked down at her in confusion, then smiled a little. "Your window is wide open."

"Were you that desperate to enter my chamber while your blood boils?" she teased. Of course Altaïr was above such gambits... or so she assumed, for the man smirked and lowered himself until their chests pressed together and their noses almost touched.

“If I wanted to take advantage of you, Tülay, it would be all too easy.” He wasn't going to do anything, he just wanted her to know that no matter the situation, he was _always_ in control. It satisfied him to see nervousness on her visage as she searched his hooded eyes, and he could feel her heart pounding against his rib cage. He could almost see it, too, because she wore another thin silk night garment instead of a common cotton chemise. Suddenly Altaïr left the bed to stand in the center of the room. “Are you prepared for the mission in Jerusalem? Do you still want me to go with you?"

Tülay sat up while gathering the blanket around herself, then looked at him determinedly. "Of course I do. Your intrusion and tirade change nothing." Although, honestly, she never wanted to give him a reason to yell like that again. "I am sorry about your father. I wish he could be here today."

"As do I..." the man said without much feeling. Wordlessly and gracefully he climbed into the window, briefly perched like a bird of prey before he scaled the exterior and disappeared from view. Tülay stared at the vacant sill, then sighed as she snuggled back into the blankets. She wished she could have seen the face of her Prince Charming.

* * *

In the morning Altaïr busied himself by gathering supplies needed for the two day ride to Jerusalem. He visited the dining hall to procure bread, dried meats and dates, then filled a large satchel with fresh water from a well. He stowed some bandages and antiseptic ointment in his horse's saddlebag in case mount or rider received an injury.

Tülay was with Rauf learning how to wield her new weapon. While Altaïr and all the other Assassins were missing the ring fingers of their non-dominant hands, his protégé’s digits were small enough to avoid the blade even as she made a fist while it was extended. "This device is for discreet assassination," Rauf explained. "Aim for the base of the neck, the throat, or the heart. As soon as you have time, wipe it free of blood to prevent rust. And never,  _ever_  use this weapon to slay an innocent."

Tülay nodded in acceptance. "Thank you, Rauf. I hope I need not use this, but I understand its value in a dire situation." She examined the contraption around her arm once more, wondering what it would feel like as it sunk into the flesh of an enemy. She shuddered at the thought.

"Be safe, and remember the Creed," he said with a smile. "May fortune smile upon you."

Tülay waved at the man and jogged over to where Altaïr stood with the horses. Two young boys were strapping on the man's many accoutrements; all Tülay had with her were the clothes on her back, a shawl, and the small purse of coins she had earned in Antioch.

A few men gathered to see them off but no one besides Al Mualim knew where or why they were leaving. Unsurprisingly, Abbas glowered at his hated rival, and Altaïr noticed Malik and Kadar Al-Sayf conversing in the shadows. Telash stood next to Tülay's dark bay horse looking as if he were ready to profess his love for her, and Altaïr scoffed at his uninhibited infatuation. "Ready?" he asked his apprentice, who sat in the saddle uncomfortably. She would just have to get used to it. The stable boy stepped forward once more to adjust her stirrups and grinned. His reward was a kind smile which, coming from Tülay, was reward enough.

"Now I am," she nodded. Altaïr flicked the reins and dug his heels into the sides of his horse that sprinted forward with a whinny. The bay mount reared up slightly before chasing after, soliciting a yelp from Tülay. A cloud of dust followed them down the hill and through the village, and then they were cantering along a path through a shallow valley.

They didn't speak to each other until nightfall. They had passed Ba’albak a few hours previous and were somewhere in the countryside outside Damascus. Altaïr's decisive resting place was grassy knoll near a crumbling fortification. "Tie up your horse unless you want him to wander off," he said while securing his dappled steed to a tree.

Tülay gave her mount a fond pat on the neck. "He will not go anywhere as long as there is grass."

"Why do you have to refute everything I say?" Altaïr asked exasperatedly. "Just do it!" The girl narrowed her eyes at him but tied a rope from the horse's bridle to the same tree without a word. Then she began to head up the hill. "Where are you going?"

"To gather wood for a fire," she said, "unless you would prefer to sleep with a chill."

The Master Assassin only grunted his approval and she disappeared over the knoll, returning with an armload of dead branches a few minutes later. After his contribution of moss tinder Tülay lit the fire, then situated the shawl around her bare arms and hugged her knees to her chest while Altaïr sat cross-legged opposite her. He rummaged through one of the bags to produce some bread and meat, which the girl silently accepted. "Do you  _ever_  remove your cowl?" she then asked from out of the blue.

"When I sleep," the man answered. "It only comes off when I sleep."

"Do you feel insecure without it?"

He had to contemplate that. Altaïr liked the anonymity of the peaked hood; his attire in general was similar to those of the priests in the big cities. He had performed more than one escape by vanishing among their ranks. "It keeps me hidden from the world," he decided to say.

"What are you  _really_  hiding from?" Tülay probed. "Are you ashamed to let your visage be seen?"

"No." But it was a lie. If his face remained shadowed, it could never betray his intentions.

The girl poked a piece of scrub toward the flame. "They say the eyes are a window to the soul." Her own looked molten in the flickering light. "Why will you not let anyone see into your soul?"

Altaïr sneered a little. "You might be frightened by what you find there."

She put a contemplative finger to her lips. "I think I would see... sadness, because of your father. He left you alone in the world. And that might mean you envy those who have family in the Order, like Malik." Her eyebrows lifted inquisitively.

"Go on," he requested.

"Most of the time, however, your visage is full of arrogance." Altaïr let the jab slide. "But you are determined, and courageous, and sometimes selfless as evidence when you freed me from the harem." She gave him a sideways glance to see if he was shaking with animosity yet. Altaïr only smiled, which the fire did highlight, and waited for her to continue. "Even when I cannot read the emotions in your eyes, Efendim, I can always read your body language."

"What's  _that_  supposed to mean?" Altaïr demanded.

Tülay tittered innocently. "It means I can make a very good guess as to what you are thinking and feeling. Last night, for example..." Here he cringed. "Your muscles were tense, your breath hot, and your heart was beating rather frantically, was it not?" She laughed again at his expression. "You could have done anything you wanted– you are much stronger than I."

Altaïr slowly expelled the air from his lungs, mentally berating himself. "We of the Assassin Order do not succumb to petty emotions such as those that rule the men who abducted you."

The girl's brow furrowed. "Do you believe love is petty as well?"

"It’s a weakness," he replied. "It clouds your judgment, makes you vulnerable. For us, falling in love will result in the deaths of those we care for."

Tülay scoffed loudly. "Do you mean to tell me that you have  _never_  loved anyone? There is no one whom you desired to be with, no one whose touch you craved?"

She was not expecting the answer he gave. "There was a woman, a long time ago..." Altaïr murmured. "Her name was Adha."

"Tell me about her! How did you meet? What was she like?"

"No. This is one tale you cannot wrest from me."

"Altaïr..." she whined, "Please! Prove to me that you have a heart!"

"You think I'm heartless?" the man asked, a little hurt.

Tülay noticed this unusual tone and shook her head. "I mean to say that some of the training you put me through is  _torture!_  It is as if you delight in my pain!"

Altaïr folded his arms. "Everything you do makes you stronger. Just remember that when the only way to escape angry guards is to climb a city wall."

"I should hope my actions in Jerusalem would not solicit the attention of guards." She sounded unsure and was staring at her toes once again.

"Are you certain you want to do this?" Altaïr asked. "Look at me." Amber eyes flicked up. "We can return to Masyaf if you believe you cannot fulfill your duty."

Tülay half-smiled, a smile that said there was no going back. "I will not disappoint Al Mualim... I will honor you and the Brotherhood by proving successful in this task. I believe in what you stand for, Efendim. A greater truth has never escaped my lips. If I can do something to empower those who were once helpless like me..." She shook her head. "I shall do whatever it takes to find that weapon. I do not want the Templars to use it to dominate people."

"...All right," Altaïr said, nodding resolutely. "We have talked long enough. It's time for rest."

He produced two wool blankets and handed one around the fire to Tülay. She laid it as close to the blaze as she deemed safe before hunkering down to keep her face warm. Altaïr watched her eyelids grow heavier until they stayed shut and she breathed evenly. He then slid the cowl off his hair, which he mussed, and used it to cushion his neck.

Tülay opened one eye beneath the curtain of auburn waves that had fallen over her face. The fire highlighted the portrait of a very handsome man: he had low cheekbones, a sharp jawline, a long, straight nose, and full lips with a softly curved Cupid's bow. The scar was hidden in shadow, but it was something Tülay had wondered about since the first time they met. Perhaps the story of how he received it was one he would be willing to share if she asked nicely.

* * *

Thankfully Altaïr did not dream that night. For once he did not wake with sweat drenching his skin or blood racing through his veins. No erotic visions of Tülay danced in his mind for which he thanked Allah for sparing him potential embarrassment. He stood up and stretched in the crisp morning air; the sun had not completely risen yet. He frowned after dragging a hand down his grimy face; a bath in Jerusalem would be much appreciated. The noises from packing their equipment woke Tülay, who was disinclined to leave the warm blanket. She opened her mouth to bid Altaïr good morning but a loud yawn escaped instead. “Haydi ya! How did you sleep, Efendim?”

"Well," the man replied, going over his riding gear. "We have a long journey today, let's get going." She rolled the blanket and affixed it to the back of the saddle, then planted her right foot in the stirrup but was too short to pull herself up. Sighing heavily, Altaïr came round and pushed her the rest of the way. "You are so helpless," he muttered, though not quietly enough.

"Just because I am an inadequate horseman does not mean I can do nothing on my own!" She turned up her nose while flicking the reins, shouting at her horse that trotted a few steps before breaking into a rolling canter. Altaïr hastily mounted and chased after her.

"Is it a race, then?" he called. Tülay clicked her tongue, urging her steed to a four-beat gallop. Altaïr spurred his horse and quickly caught up, smirking as he passed her by a nose. After galloping past Damascus they gave the horses a reprieve at a well in the countryside and steadily made their way to Bait al-Ahzan, a settlement near a lake. The girl realized how dusty she had become and grimaced, looking longingly at the water. “No,” Altaïr said, following her gaze. “We don’t have time to waste. If you kept yourself covered more, dust and sand wouldn't be an issue.”

She sighed. "That is true, but everything I wear allows me to move freely. I dislike the feel of restrictive garments. I _especially_ hate the hijab."

Astride the horses once more, they plodded ever south. "It may interest you to know that I overheard Telash talking to someone about how beautiful you would look in the veil." He glanced sideways to find the girl wearing an amused grin. "Tell me what you think of him."

She shrugged. "Telash is kind, but I have rarely seen him train. He does not seem to take things very seriously."

"He follows you like around like a puppy. He believes if he can earn your trust, you won't refuse him."

Tülay looked at him in consternation. "What do you mean, Efendim?"

"Is it not obvious?" Altaïr scoffed at her naivety. "You two are the same age. He was born into the Order and has not gotten the chance to meet many girls. Then you arrive, looking as you do, and he is smitten. He is even more entranced by your ability to do things better than him! Telash sees you as his ideal bride."

The girl blushed profusely, turning to examine the cliff they rode alongside. "I do not feel that way about him at all! I think he is a good  _friend!_  He is one of the only men who speaks to me besides you and Rauf."

"He's just a  _boy_. He knows not which path to walk yet."

"And what path do  _you_  walk that makes you a superior man?" She looked empathetic, like she knew the answer Altaïr would give and was saddened to hear it.

"I am an Assassin. Regardless of the task I am given, I will complete it without hesitation or failure."

Tülay rolled her eyes at his predictable words. "I believe the path _I_ am meant to follow will prove that women belong in the Order. I will do whatever it takes for..." She paused, furrowing her brow for some reason, then shook her head. "I refuse to fail as well," she finished.

Altaïr accepted the statement in its entirety. If Tülay proved unsuccessful in her mission to glean information from the Templars by getting herself captured or killed, Al Mualim would indeed be disappointed even though it was  _he_  who deemed her ready for such an ominous quest. But Altaïr had promised him that she wouldn't fail, which meant his credibility was on the line as well. He couldn't do the mission for her, but he could stay in the shadows and be ready to offer aid if her life was endangered.

He would be her silent, invisible guardian.


	8. Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rafiq: graduated scholar  
> Souk: a free-trade market  
> Dinar: currency  
> Gomlek: Turkish garment derived from the European chemise  
> Keriz: fool

**Charm**

At the city gates of Jerusalem Altaïr snatched a hooded cloak from one of the outdoor stalls and fastened it around his neck. He left his horse at a hitching post and walked alongside the bay mount of Tülay, who he instructed to shield her face with her shawl. "Why are we in disguise?" she whispered, taking in all the sights of the vast Rich District.

Altaïr kept his head angled toward the ground even though the second covering made it impossible to tell what kind of man he was. "The Saracens and our Order don't exactly see eye to eye," he said just loud enough for her ears. Everyone around them was dressed in fine robes of deep dyes as they bartered and haggled for better prices on things like sculptures and pottery to fill their homes. Altaïr needed to go to the Assassin Bureau to find out where the scribe was located; Tülay was to be delivered directly to him. Sparkling jewels caught her attention, making her oblivious to the way people stared as she passed by.

"Is she a Kashmiri princess?" one man asked another. "Look how revealing her clothes are!" an older woman exclaimed. One statement in particular caught the Assassin’s attention: "Perhaps she is Talal's newest bargaining chip." He would have to talk with that man in the shadows after they found the scribe. Altaïr locked the man's appearance in his memory vault and continued clearing a path through the busy marketplace.

Finally he spied the building with no doors or windows. Tülay frowned as her mount was pulled into the alley beside the stone structure. "What is this place?"

"The rafiq here will tell us where to meet the scribe," Altaïr explained, and ascended a convenient ladder leading to the roof. Tülay raised an eyebrow when her mentor stepped down and disappeared from view. Inside the bureau, a man in black robes put down the book he was reading and glanced up at the cloaked figure approaching. The Master Assassin removed the heavy garment and the rafiq released his dagger.

"Altaïr, welcome. Al Mualim told me your arrival was imminent. Is Tülay outside?" He simply nodded. "Great. The person you are going to meet is the record-keeper for the city's regent, Majd Addin. He records everything from taxes to exported and imported goods to names of people seeking citizenship. With access to so many of Jerusalem's leaders, it will be possible for the girl to infiltrate their homes with ease."

"And is she to act as the scribe's slave?"

"No, no, not at all!" The rafiq handed Altaïr a list with many names on it. "These are all the men we want her to investigate. If Tülay is as skilled a dancer as you said to Al Mualim, it will be easy for her to get close to them by providing entertainment."

"I see. What is the name of her host?"

"His name is Leharas Addin. Majd is his uncle. He should be about finished at the mosque in the center of this district."

Altaïr hummed at the connection but said nothing further. He pocketed the list and exited the bureau the same way he got in, and slid down the ladder. Tülay jumped slightly since she had been looking the other way at some guards who were harassing a girl her age. "Efendim, I have an odd feeling about this city. The peace here seems... fragile." Altaïr gave her the slip of paper.

"Don't lose that– those are your targets. Those are all the men who may have information regarding the weapon." With that he gripped the horse's bridle and led it back into the street, earning some protests from those carrying delicate goods. He headed in the direction of the large, domed mosque dominating the skyline.

After a moment of perusing the names, Tülay said, "If I visit each of these men in turn, will they not suspect me?"

"I believe you will find a way," Altaïr stated. It was much too late for her to give up now! "Look, that must be the scribe. Leharas."

"Leharas?" Tülay repeated, the name rolling strangely off her tongue. Altaïr forgot that Arabic was not her native language because she spoke it so well. A young man holding an armload of scrolls was staring at them through what Altaïr knew to be called spectacles. Lack of proper eyesight was a severe disadvantage and he wondered why Al Mualim had kept Leharas in the Order.  _'Probably because of his relation to Majd Addin,'_  he reasoned.

"Hello!" the scribe greeted cheerily, walking right up to them. "I see you’ve brought my new assistant! My, my..." He looked Tülay thrice-over. "Isn't she lovely?"

Altaïr had a habit of judging people based on their physical appearance and his conclusion of Leharas was that he was as trustworthy as a serpent. He had long, dark hair bound back with a strip of leather; some strands hung around his face like a corsair’s. He was only slightly taller than Altaïr and not nearly as strong; his hands were in too good of condition to have seen much combat. The thing that bothered him most was the haughty expression on the man's face. He definitely didn't trust Leharas with Tülay and would have to keep a very close watch on them both.

"Come now," the scribe motioned, "I'll show you to my home. I’m positive you will find it fully accommodating."

Altaïr released the bridle and stepped back. "This is where I leave you, Tülay. Remember your training, and trust your instincts."

"Wise words from the master," Leharas remarked, “but unnecessary. In my hands she will be well taken care of."

The hooded man glared from within the shadow his cowl provided while Leharas took the horse's reins and pulled it in the direction of opulent houses. Altaïr walked the opposite way for a while before ducking into a darkened alley, then scaled a building to traverse rooftops that paralleled man, girl and steed. Feeling rather nervous, Tülay tried to make polite conversation. "How long have you lived here, in Jerusalem?" she inquired.

"Mostly my entire life," Leharas replied. "I trained and studied in Masyaf until my uncle assumed command of the city. I report to Al Mualim weekly but there does not seem to be much Templar activity while Jerusalem is occupied by the Saracens."

The horse's hooves sounded loud without a thick concentration of people to dampen them. Two oil-soaked torches marked the entrance to a grandiose mansion, but the duo turned down another road. "Who lives there?" Tülay wanted to know.

"My uncle. He enjoys living large. My abode is much less formidable." In the darkness of the setting sun Tülay missed a sideways glance from the scribe.

"How long will I be staying with you?" Admittedly the idea of living alone with a stranger, no matter how temporary a time, was off-putting.

"Until your task is finished, I suppose," Leharas shrugged. He stopped the horse upon arriving outside an iron, ivy-covered gate. After withdrawing a key from his robe they entered a cobblestone courtyard with a fountain in each corner. Above them was a balcony that connected each section of the dwelling.

"Less formidable," Tülay commented while dismounting, "yet still imposingly decadent."

Leharas motioned to an entryway in the eastern region of his home. "Let me give you a tour of the place." As soon as they crossed the threshold Tülay released a slight breath of wonder. The hall was magnificent with chandeliers hanging from the ceiling and tapestries adorning the walls. Leharas proudly explained the significance behind each piece while the girl turned her head every-which-way to take it all in. "This is the dining hall," she heard when she snapped back to attention.

This area had a high ceiling with intricately carved arches for support, and a long table of dark wood had room to seat twenty people. In an adjoining room was the kitchen; two hearths with tall chimneys billowed smoke as a whole pig was roasted over low flame. "It smells amazing in here," Tülay remarked as she practically floated in wake of her host. At the end of the hall was a set of stairs Leharas went up.

"These are the living quarters," he explained. "In addition to myself and the few servants I possess, this is where your room will be. I'll show you there now." Along the carpeted hall were three wooden doors. The first one led to Leharas' room, which he didn't reveal. The middle door led to a large tiled bathroom. Copper plumbing connected to a nearby hot spring, pumping mineral water directly into the stone bathtub. The bathroom connected to both bedrooms, and inside Tülay's was a European-style canopy bed, many plush rugs, a vanity desk, a divan, and a few trunks and armoires. "Do you like it?" Leharas asked.

"This is like a palace!" Tülay breathed in awe. "Oh, it is too much! You are too gracious!"

Leharas laughed. "Maybe you're too humble. But that is a good trait for a girl to have." The comment earned him a shy smile. "Will you join me for dinner?"

"Yes, thank you," Tülay said. After two days of riding with nothing but bread, water and stale meat to survive on, she couldn't wait to have something warm and succulent filling her belly.

* * *

Altaïr was positioned within the confines of a rooftop garden directly across from the scribe's home. There were few windows along the outside wall but he was able to see Tülay's silhouette behind a sheet of glass. After the stars had been out for a few hours, the window swung open to reveal her face. The corner of the room visible to Altaïr was illuminated by a soft candle, which he stared at for many minutes until a movement on the ground caught his attention.  _'Who could be out this late?'_ Swooping down to the street revealed it to be his female accomplice. He hadn't even noticed that she had left!

Tülay jumped slightly when she saw a shadow approaching her from behind. "Oh, it is you, Efendim!" she said with a sigh of relief. Altaïr took a moment to examine her current attire, which consisted of long silk pants, bejeweled slippers, and a richly embroidered robe with bell sleeves.

"Leharas bought clothes for you?" he dryly inquired.

Tülay nodded. "This is only temporary. I am going shopping tomorrow for materials to make a kaftan, then joining Leharas while he visits the city armory to record inventory."

"What are you doing outside so late?"

"I am too excited to sleep!" Tülay grinned. "I wanted to explore Jerusalem!"

The Assassin sighed heavily. "You can do that during the day. Leharas will get suspicious if you leave every night."

"He is in his archives," the girl returned. "And why would he suspect me? We work to achieve the same goal."

"I'm not so certain of that," Altaïr muttered. "For a member of the Brotherhood to accept such a lavish house, I believe he has been corrupted by greed."

"Is he not helping us?"

"He's aiding  _you_ , Tülay. I was just the one who delivered you. It will be better if he believes I have returned to Masyaf."

The girl bit her lip, staring at her toes. "Where will you stay?"

"With Kadar, the bureau leader. Do not worry, I'll be watching over you." With her hair in a neat braid and her body completely covered by luxurious fabrics, she seemed like any other proper young woman of the city. There was no indication of her affiliation with the Assassins and Altaïr hoped she would keep it that way. Before the silence between them grew too awkward the girl nodded and bade him goodnight, and with that he climbed back to his perch, keeping a vigilant eye on Leharas' home.

* * *

Tülay woke and was greeted by the bright colors of a stained glass window. Reaching the edge of the bed took a bit of effort as it was very large. Her toes sunk into a thick rug as she donned her Assassin's garb minus the belts and sheaths. She tucked her coin purse securely into the red sash and draped the shawl around her shoulders, not that it would do much by way of appearing more modest. Just before Tülay exited the courtyard she spied an older woman sweeping the threshold. "Excuse me..."

"What is it?" the woman croaked.

"In which area of the market might I locate clothing and fabric?"

"The souk? It's next to Addin's mansion. I hope this means you will no longer dress like a harlot."

Tülay brushed off the comment and strode into the street with her head held high. She made her way through a sea of people heading toward the mosque. Once there she glanced down every thoroughfare, spying pottery, artwork, labor services, and finally textiles. As she entered the souk she was overcome by culture shock, and she spent as much time listening to people talk as she did browsing wares. Most of her silver dinar was spent on silk-chiffon and Egyptian cotton, but she also bought a tray of glass beads and sewing essentials. People made way as she struggled to carry everything back to Leharas' home and once there a handmaiden helped her to her room. Tülay regained her energy on the divan, then rolled out the fabric and drew patterns on it with chalk. Leharas stuck his head into her room as she was cutting them out.

"Oh my, I see someone's going to be busy. Is that an outfit for the Dabhi celebration?" Having heard that Leharas' assistant was a dancer from Anatolia, Hisham Dabhi wanted her to perform at his fifty-second birthday event. His name was on Tülay's list, probably because he was a theologist who preached that the Western religion was one they shouldn't condemn and Salah al'Din was too pig-headed to accept that fact. Men like him were responsible for creating turmoil in the city.

The girl smiled up at him. "Yes it is, and I'm also making something that reminds me of home."

"Right. Well, in about two hours I'm heading to the armory. The man in charge is on the list." His head dipped slightly. "If you need anything, I'll be in the study." Tülay returned to her immediate project: a gomlek with gossamer sleeves and an embroidered cropped jacket to go with it. She had just slipped into each new garment when her host returned. "You look very nice," Leharas commented as they went downstairs together. "Less intimidating."

"You think my other outfit is intimidating?" the girl smirked.

The scribe nodded. " _All_  beautiful women are intimidating. I see one and wonder 'can I talk to her? Can I even approach her? Am I interesting enough that she will remember my name?' Girls like you can practically choose your suitors."

Tülay had never thought she had a choice in the matter. Her family wasn't of royal blood but they were familiar with Arslan on a personal level. She knew that men both young and old had approached her father to inquire about an arranged marriage, but Zanarhi always turned them away. Who was he waiting to ask for Tülay's hand, one of the eleven princes of the sultanate? "Are there any women you have your eye on?" she asked outright. Leharas gave her a bewildered look, ruining his typically stolid countenance, and coughed nervously.

"No, no... not at the moment," he managed. "There are many daughters of noblemen to choose from but they are rather boring. I suppose I'm boring as well, but it's my job." People in the street parted to give the well-dressed pair enough space as they conversed.

Tülay offered him a genuine smile. "I do not think you are boring, Leharas. How intelligent you must be to be able to keep track of so many records! You know how to write well and you know arithmetic, something I have never bothered with. I should think a noblewoman would  _want_  to get married to a bright man like you!"

The blush staining his cheeks put a damper on words he meant to be serious. "Come now, Tülay. Something tells me you know just what to say to get what you want."

"I do not want anything," she replied, a little taken aback. "I only wish to accomplish what I came here to do. I need to find out if anyone knows about that weapon, and it would be nice if I had your full support."

The man cleared his throat and muttered something incomprehensible. The look he wore was rather guilty in nature. "Of course I'll help you..." he muttered, "I'll do whatever you ask." He lifted his gaze once they arrived at the gate to the armory. "This will prove how boring I really am… Prepare yourself!"

A guard opened the heavy barricade, making Tülay cringe as it slammed shut behind them. She followed Leharas into the vast stone building where the temperature increased dramatically and the sounds of hammers falling upon heated metal resonated throughout. "It is quite warm in here," she commented, fanning herself. Leharas only motioned for her to keep following. They wound through many corridors and went down into the earth where it became nice and cool.

The scribe opened a door and the man within instantly stood up. "Ah, there you are," his deep voice echoed in the chamber. "Is there a reason for your lateness, Leharas?"

The younger, smaller man cleared his throat and stepped back to put Tülay in the spotlight. "This is my new assistant, Tülay, from Anatolia. She came here in search of work so I took her in. Tülay, this is Kazim, overseer of the armory."

Kazim was a giant with thick facial hair and bushy eyebrows. He wore an orange vest without a shirt, dark trousers, and leather boots. Tucked into his sash was the scabbard of a shamshir, and his arms were riddled with scars. Predatory eyes gleamed in the firelight from beneath his turban. He was not the preferred company of Leharas, but they both answered to his uncle. "Let me show you how much progress we've made since last week, to keep up with Salah al'Din's demands," Kazim grinned, revealing slightly yellowed teeth. He paused next to Tülay, giving her an intrigued glance, then raised his eyebrows suggestively at the scribe, who pushed his spectacles back up his nose with a sigh.

"He thinks you are my lover," Leharas whispered as they trailed the large man, Tülay managing to stifle a laugh. They passed the furnaces and forges and entered a wide room stocked full of boxes. Each crate held twenty swords, and there were other weapons as well, such as arrows with sharp steel tips and long spears. Leharas craned his neck to take everything in. "My, my, you _have_ been busy."

"Salah al'Din depends on us to provide proper arms for his men," Kazim proudly stated. "When your inventory is finished, everything will be sent south so he can continue protecting us from the infidels."

Unrolling a long length of parchment, Leharas used his quill pen to make marks in different columns. Tülay milled around for a few minutes before deciding this procedure really was incredibly boring, so she left the storage room and tailed Kazim. "Excuse me!" she shouted before he rounded a corner. His head swiveled toward her.

"What do you want, girl?" He was frightening, but not as much as the Byzantine soldiers had been. Tülay met his cold, dark eyes with her lively amber ones.

"I have never seen so many weapons in one place. Could you show me how they are made?"

"Why does  _that_  interest you? A home and children should be the only things on your mind."

Her fingers twitched irritably. "My home is corrupt," she icily replied, "and I have not a man to provide me with children. My father would rather have me fight than sit and wait to die."

Kazim's expression softened. "Your father sounds like a wise man," he said, nodding. "Very well. I'll show you how a sword is born."

The overseer was passionate about his work, that much Tülay discerned during her tour. He had been a soldier in Salah al'Din's army before a broken leg bone did not heal correctly, making it so he never saw combat again. "If I cannot see the heads of our enemies roll," his booming voice declared, "I will forge the blades that cut them from their shoulders!" Tülay found it hard not to smile at his bravado. Altaïr was arrogant, Leharas a bit haughty, but Kazim was the face of machismo. In the room where molten iron was poured into molds, he likened the slag’s temperature to that of the sun. "If you thrust your hand in there, it would be so hot that your body would shiver as if frozen."

"Fascinating," the girl said, wondering how he discovered such a fact. Beneath another vaulted ceiling was where the molds were allowed to cool, and then Tülay found herself back among the furnaces where the crude blades were tempered and honed for battle by dozens of smiths. Lastly the swords were decorated and sharpened, the handles wrapped with leather or suede, and finally waited for Leharas to record their numbers before traveling via caravan to the sultan's coastal forces. "Can I ask you something, Kazim?"

Tülay asked this is a tone as if she were about to divulge a great secret he needed to keep to himself. "I suppose..." His eyes betrayed his uncertainty.

"Have you heard anything about a mystical sword from the southern part of the empire? Its power is said to be fearsome to behold. I imagine that if Salah al'Din knew about this sword, you would be out of business."

At first the overseer glared at her as though she had just foretold the future. He opened his mouth to say something yet closed it a second later, turning his back on the girl. "If such a weapon existed, the war would be over and the infidels driven from our lands. If I ever found such a weapon, I would gladly give it Salah al'Din. But then we would be standing in an empty building right now, wouldn't we?"

* * *

"So Kazim was devoid of any information regarding Al Mualim's miracle weapon. A pity, but there are many others to investigate." Leharas downed the rest of his wine while Tülay gingerly sipped from her goblet. Carrots still steamed on her plate, their rosemary garnish taunting her nose. A servant appeared to take the empty dish of his employer, wishing the girl did not eat so slowly.

"I must ask, Effendi, if all the men on the list are commanded by the hand of your uncle..." Tülay took a bite from the carrot impaled on her fork. "Would it not be most prudent to speak with him directly?"

Leharas rubbed the back of his head, avoiding her gaze. "He is not what you would call receptive to inquiries at the moment. He wants to get this city under control before complete chaos erupts due to Salah al'Din's absence. The other districts are rather tumultuous as of late. Just yesterday an old man slandering the sultan's name was struck down by guards, and people are lashing out."

"Is it going to stay safe here?" Tülay wanted to wrest a real opinion from Leharas, not another of his groomed answers. "Will I be able to accomplish what I came here to do?"

The bespectacled man sighed and looked at her wearily. "Tülay, Tülay, Tülay... I know you were sent to me on a mission, but Rome was not built in a day! You should enjoy your time in Jerusalem, relax, and take things one step at a time. Would you like to take a bath? You look like the kind of girl who enjoys a long, hot soak at the end of the day. All that soot from the forges has soiled your lovely face." Tülay set her fork down and brushed her cheek, finding the tips of her fingers darkened. "Shall I fill you a bath?" The beginning of a leer turned his lips up at one corner. He snapped twice and the same servant quickly returned to remove Tülay's plate and utensils. She rose from her chair, regarding him narrowly. "Follow me," Leharas beckoned.

He was a perfect host. _'Too perfect,'_ warned Tülay's intuition, but she really had no reason to distrust him. _'And Altaïr suspects something is off with him as well...'_ Stifling such thoughts, she went with him to the bathroom and stood with her arms folded as he pumped the handle a few times to get the water flowing. Once the tub was full, Leharas summoned a handmaiden who bore a cotton robe on one arm and a basket of oils, salts and related accoutrements on the other. "Why do you have these things?" she inquired.

His answer was smooth. "When I found out you were coming to stay with me, I sent dear Nadia here to pick up some grooming items a proper lady would enjoy."

"A _proper_ lady?" Tülay repeated. "We are members of the Assassin Order, Leharas. We are spies and traitors to those who believe we have their allegiance while we seek to undo their evil. There is nothing  _proper_ about me now."

"Spies and traitors, eh?" he snickered. "Which one are you, the spy or the traitor?" She didn't give him the satisfaction of an answer. He leaned forward to rest his weight on the edge of the bathtub, but his hand slipped and he all but plunged into it headfirst.

Tülay hurriedly pulled back on his shoulders. "Leharas, are you drunk?! You are acting very much the keriz."

"Most likely," the man chuckled. "I did have two glasses before dinner. I suppose I should leave you before my inhibitions come to surface."

The girl emphatically agreed. Leharas waved an apology and went to his room, leaving the door open a crack. She didn't undress until snores reached her ears, and even then she moved the changing screen in front of the bath so no one could see her if they walked in. She poured some rose oil into the water before immersing herself, hugging her knees to her chest.

The remainder of the evening passed without further tension. Tülay returned to sewing up the skirt she would dance in tomorrow, then began constructing a matching top. When the sun had been down for a few hours she knew it was time to go to bed. The plush mattress easily lulled her to the edge of slumber; however, just before she nodded off her keen ears caught the approach of footsteps beyond her door. It didn't creak as it swung open. Someone came to the edge of the bed, and she didn't have to open her eyes to see who– she could smell the wine on Leharas' breath. Fear made her hair stand on end yet she managed to feign sleep.

Tülay was prepared to use the dagger beneath her pillow against him if he touched her, but all she felt was his heated gaze. Whatever the intentions within, she did not want to be around Leharas if he decided to act on them. She did not want the first person she killed to be someone she believed a friend.


	9. Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Santur: hammered dulcimer  
> Ney: Persian flute  
> Setar: Persian lute

**Treachery**

Tülay devoted three weeks to shadowing her host as he met with Jerusalem's most prestigious inhabitants. At the end of each day, however, she crossed a name off her list with a sigh, having learned nothing, until there was but one left. "Hatim regulates imported goods from the Orient," Leharas explained one night after their evening meal. "He is well-acquainted with my uncle."

"How difficult will it be to meet him?" Tülay leaned against the footboard of Leharas' bed while he sat on it rolling his scrolls and binding them with string.

He gave her a sideways glance. "Fortune smiles upon you, Tülay. My uncle is holding a banquet tomorrow night. I am permitted to bring one guest– it will be you."

She raised an eyebrow and turned to stare out a window. If Altaïr was still out there, watching over her, he would have to be informed of this development. "The party will be at your uncle's mansion, I presume?"

The young man nodded. "On the outside it is imposing enough, but inside... one could get lost if they don't keep track of their feet. I have not been there in a few years so I can only wonder how large his collection has grown."

"Collection?"

Leharas smiled sheepishly. "He likes to surround himself with items of power, weapons and armor from all corners of the known world. Some are ancient artifacts, others salvaged from battlefields. He says they inspire him."

"...How interesting." Tülay bid him goodnight and returned to her own room. If Majd Addin was such a connoisseur of weaponry, why had he not been the first to investigate? His name did not even grace her roster. She also noticed the manner in which Leharas had divulged that tidbit was regretful. If his uncle knew nothing of the mystical weapon, there would be no reason for him to withhold such information. But it did seem he'd been doing that quite frequently as of late.

When visiting his clients they conversed in hushed voices if Tülay was nearby. When it was her turn to talk the men regarded her pensively, giving vague answers to her questions. Around his home they barely spoke, the scribe seemingly hiding in his archives to keep them separated. At first Tülay thought he was embarrassed from the night of the bathtub incident, but as the days wore on Leharas grew increasingly aloof.  _'He is definitely hiding something from me..._ _But if it has to do with his uncle, why bring me right to him?'_

 _"Straight into the den of the lion,"_  a part of her warned. " _Leharas can no longer be trusted. He uses his charm to manipulate people, especially you."  
_

_'How could he manipulate me while I am right beneath his nose?'_  She found no answer to give herself. As her eyes became blanketed by sleep, however, she could not ignore the way her stomach twisted into anxious knots. Meeting Majd Addin tomorrow night would reveal all the answers to her questions.

* * *

Altaïr had kept his eyes on Tülay and her host for most of the month it took her to question the men Al Mualim wanted to investigate. But judging by the disappointed look on her face each time she exited a business or personal residence, Jerusalem's elite knew nothing of the elusive blade. The Master Assassin also scoured the city in search of the large man with the scar he had overheard in the Rich District. He listened from rooftops and alleys for any mention of the name "Talal", but it never passed the lips of the common people.

There was something strange going on in Jerusalem; Altaïr was certain of that much. He wished he could make his presence known by striding right up to Leharas and wringing some answers out of him. From what he could see, though, the scribe spent most of his time in a large room where the shelves were tightly packed with parchment and scrolls. He scribbled, scratched, and occasionally removed a ledger for consultation. The boy was utterly mind-numbing. During one of Altaïr’s explorations of the Poor District his ears caught a description that reminded him of Tülay. "Majd Addin is holding a lavish banquet tonight," one aged laborer said to his journeyman. "The most affluent people in the city are going to be there."

"So I have heard..." the younger man sighed regretfully. "I would give my right arm to attend that party. The entertainment is supposed to come in the form of an exotic beauty from the northern lands."

"You heard that rumor, too?" The elder chuckled before returning to his task of shoveling dirt. "Seeing her would be a real treat for these sore eyes!"

"An exotic beauty, hm?" Altaïr retreated from the edge of the roof. Tülay was the only girl from the north he knew of in Jerusalem. There was a chance that it could be a different woman, perhaps from Damascus, but generally "the north" referred to the empire not under Salah al'Din's control, the Seljuq Sultanate.

People in all three districts were gossiping about Addin's gala. By dusk Altaïr was beginning to tire of hearing about it. He waited in the bureau until the sun went down, emerging with another inconspicuous cloak about his shoulders, stalking the streets of the Rich District. He stood in the alley diagonal from Leharas' mansion, and soon enough the scribe emerged in his finest robes of deep crimson and gold.

Altaïr scoffed at the pompous attire, especially the curly-toed shoes, but then he saw an unreasonably beautiful woman take her place at his side. His mouth dropped open when he realized it was Tülay. She had told Altaïr she was going to make a kaftan, but the one she wore was fit for royalty. Comprised of three layers, the slip was violet in color with rich embroidery visible between the panels of the second layer, the overdress, which was turquoise with gold trim. The last layer was a sheer robe featuring beaded floral designs. A woven golden belt defined her waist, the ensemble in its entirety making her glow like a goddess.

They spoke to one other but the Assassin was too enthralled by his protégé to catch their words. Maybe this was the kind of life that belonged to her. If she married Leharas she would have wealth, security, and admiration. The scribe was obviously completely enamored by Tülay...  _obviously_. His head remained angled toward the girl so he would not miss a moment of the stunning vision she presented. Altaïr didn’t want to miss it either. He almost blew his cover with the notion of spiriting her away into the night. In Antioch she had put all her womanly assets unashamedly on display; now that she was modestly dressed, everything was left to the imagination.

"Here we are," Leharas grinned, motioning to the entrance of his uncle's home. Tülay made nervous fists knowing it was filled with the city's most powerful men. Kazim the finery owner. Razan, captain of the guards. Nizar the tax collector and his brother Sajjad the financier... It dawned on her that she would be the only female guest at the gathering, and at that precise moment all her assurance was shattered.

The girl hesitated while her host was greeted by a servant. "Leharas..." she said, her voice regrettably wavering, "why did you invite me to this party?"

He turned around, offering a slightly amused look. "Because my uncle wants to meet you, Tülay. Everyone here has told him so much about you! You're the talk of the town, so it's only fitting you make an appearance at this prestigious gathering."

As soon as she crossed the threshold onto a plush Persian rug, her stomach churned with anxiety. There was just something wrong with this entire situation... and she was willingly walking right into it.

* * *

Altaïr sneered at how easy it was to infiltrate Majd Addin's villa via a wide-open window beneath one of the minarets. He landed in some kind of storage space and had to hunch forward to proceed through the attic whose floorboards creaked slightly with age. Then his boot landed upon a plank that gave way to his weight, and in the blink of an eye he fell through a trap door.

The Assassin took deep breaths to calm himself; there was little that frightened Altaïr, but because he had not explored the place or made any exit strategies he wanted his actions to go unnoticed for as long as possible. Majd had guards posted outside his home; it would be foolish to believe they were not in it as well. Nobody came running, however, so Altaïr straightened and closed the trap door before continuing along in silence.

* * *

The regent of Jerusalem grinned widely at his approaching nephew. "Ah, Leharas, you've arrived! How have you been, boy?"

"Well, as usual. This is a grand gathering, Uncle," Leharas answered, indicating the jovial guests, "and I noticed you've added several more suits of knight armor to your collection."

"Courtesy of Salah al'Din's men who felled them," Majd said proudly. "If they interest you, let me show you the weapons room," With that Leharas and his uncle left the dining area to disappear through an arabesque arch, leaving Tülay standing awkwardly on her own. Had Majd even noticed her? Someone else did, someone who tapped her shoulder.

"I could not help but wonder if you had a place at the table yet, milady."

Tülay blushed. "Oh, please do not call me that! I am only the assistant of Leharas."

"An aid to our host's nephew, eh?" The man smiled, separating an auburn mustache from his long beard. "Have you been in his company long?"

"A little less than a month," Tülay replied. "I have learned so much about this magnificent city in that time, though, and met many interesting people... but excuse me for saying this, Effendi, you are unfamiliar to me."

The man chortled, a low rumble that began deep in his well-fed belly. "I am but a humble weaver and an old friend of Majd. I made most of the rugs you will walk on tonight."

"I see! My name is Tülay al-Mhámmed. It is nice to meet you, Effendi."

The man gave a rather theatrical bow. "I am Heydar Riaz Najafi. Will you sit beside me for dinner?" His answer was a shy smile and a nod. Heydar then took a seat beneath a huge bird-of-paradise plant with a fiery red bloom. He was thrilled to converse with her in Farsi, his native tongue, but they were interrupted by someone clearing their throat to commanded attention. It was Majd Addin, whose place setting was in the very center of the half-H the tables formed.

"It makes me so happy to see you all here," he began. "From every corner of the city, I have managed to gather Jerusalem's elite beneath my own roof! Each and every man here functions as an important part in the grand scheme of this land. You provide for the people, protect the people, and keep the peace. Without you they would plunge into chaos! Jerusalem  _needs_  us..." Majd paused to grab a goblet waiting on a silver tray. "The people of Jerusalem need us to  _control_  their lives! They are as scattered lambs, and we are their shepherds!" He raised the cup; all others followed eagerly except Tülay. Did no one realize the heart of his message? "To us, men! To the rule of Jerusalem!"

 _"To Jerusalem!"_  the guests cried triumphantly. They probably gulped down two casks of wine then, and cups rang out as they were slammed down on the tables. Then a stream of servants emerged from the kitchen, placing delectable soups and tagines, roasted meats and vegetables, toasted pita bread with hummus, colorful tabouleh and varieties of couscous on each table. The collective aroma was almost too tantalizing to resist, but everyone filled their plates in a dignified manner.

Tülay tried a bite of lamb with mint sauce. "Mmm..." she groaned, "This is delicious!"

"Try some fish next," Heydar suggested.

"Everything looks so wonderful," the girl remarked. "It will be hard to choose what satiates me." While she continued to eat slowly so as not to bloat, her eyes settled upon Leharas, who spoke animatedly to his uncle. Majd accepted whatever was said with a slow nod, but he did not look very happy. He turned to say something to the man on his left, a character with darkly tanned skin, short braided hair and lightly colored eyes. The last feature captivated Tülay– she found herself staring at the man until Heydar nudged her arm.

"Full already?" he asked.

"Oh, no, I was just..." She smiled sheepishly and pointed. "Who is that man sitting beside Majd Addin?"

"That is Talal."

"What does he do?" she quickly went on.

"I'm not sure. I have seen him patrolling the city with other armed men. He is a skilled marksman, so I would guess he is a retired soldier. Do you fancy him?"

Tülay blushed so profusely that she turned away from her wise new friend. "His eyes are an unusual shade is all."

Heydar chuckled knowingly as Tülay continued to survey the conversation between Leharas, his uncle, and the man named Talal. He was rather handsome, but his words seemed to be upsetting the scribe. Then he drew a pouch of coins from inside his black tunic, which he handed to Majd, and Leharas clamped his mouth shut, nostrils flared in irritation. His uncle dropped a few gold dinar into the purse before placing it before the boy, who glared at it.

While everyone else was chattering loudly Tülay heard none of it; she was too focused on the conflicting expressions at the center table. Majd looked confident and proud, Talal had one eyebrow arched high, and Leharas appeared angered yet enticed by the purse. She did not know if he accepted the money because someone across the room abruptly stood up and collided with a servant.

Everything on the woman's platter fell to the ground and she looked positively mortified. The offending guest apologized profusely while Majd ignored them. "See what happens when you drink too much?" Heydar scoffed. "Turns people into fools." Tülay released a noise of agreement and refocused on Leharas, but the purse was gone. Had he taken the money? Why had Talal offered it in the first place? Their host stood up, then, and more slaves seemed to appear from the walls. "Time for dessert!" he declared, initiating a new ruckus.

"Thank you," Tülay said to the hand that took her empty plate away. It was replaced by a small silver dish filled with sliced fruit, dates and almonds drizzled with honey. Another larger bowl of pudding was offered as well.

"Do you like sweets?" Heydar inquired, popping an apricot into his mouth. "My wife says eating too much of them will make me fat and useless!" He chuckled merrily.

"You are married?" Tülay found this somewhat hard to believe, but he was obviously well-fed. "Your wife must be a good cook."

"Indeed she is. Her walnut bread is not as sweet as this, but I like it better." Heydar smacked his lips after downing a whole slice.

Tülay had only managed to eat half the fruit bowl when the host of the evening rose to his feet once more. "I can tell by your silence that everything tastes delicious!" he laughed. "Continue to enjoy it while you are treated to some fine entertainment." Majd clapped his hands twice, summoning several musicians that immediately reminded the girl of home. The players sat down in front of the tables, tuning their instruments before launching into an upbeat song. Several women in satin ensembles melted out of the shadows, dancing with sheer veils.

Tülay closed her eyes to them, letting the music captivate her instead. It wasn't that the dancers were unskilled, but they were Ayyubid and the musicians Persian, so there was a slight cultural disconnection. This was the sound of her homeland, which she had been gone from for several months now. Her muscles begged to move with the melody but she had to deny them. This was not her night, and if she showed up the dancers she would certainly offend Majd and embarrass Leharas...

Someone gruffly cleared their throat right in front of her, and with a gasp Tülay glanced up into the face of Majd Addin. "Does the performance of my wives not interest you, Tülay? Yes, I know you by name, and I'm glad you decided to come." The smile he gave was sly. "Hisham told me he enjoyed your exhibition very much. And now that I have seen for myself how lovely you are, I think it is only fitting you dance for us now so we may _all_ appreciate your talent."

Murmuring broke out among the guests as Tülay remained speechless. A polite refusal sat on the tip of her tongue, but she knew it would be too rude to deny his request when he had provided such lavish accommodations all night. To her left Heydar suddenly began chanting "Dance! Dance! Dance!" and it spread around the tables until all the guests were shouting at her.

* * *

From his perch in the rafters overlooking the dining rotunda, Altaïr willed with all his might that Tülay would ignore the increasingly loud demand.  _'Do not indulge them! Showing off will not prove anything!'_  Despite his mental urging, Tülay abandoned her chair and made her way to the center of the room, slipping out of her soft shoes to stand barefoot on the woolen rug. This was more than familiar to her– this was her way of life. The musicians glanced at one other, unsure if they should play or not, until the man with the setar plucked a few tentative notes. Tülay's movements were slight, but then the santur joined in and she began to spin. 

They were slow at first, graceful leg sweeps that carried her across the carpet and made her sleeves billow. Each spin was followed by sinuous arm movements in all directions; her hands reached for the ceiling, pushed through the air, hovered above the floor, clenched something to her chest... It took Altaïr a few minutes to realize that this dance was completely unlike the one he saw in Antioch. There were hardly any hip swivels, no chest pops, and no undulations. The story was all in her hands, arms, and (he assumed) her facial expressions, which he couldn't see.

Each instrument had its turn at the melody, its voice becoming more prominent as the other two fell behind. The setar with its low pitch maintained the beat (the song had no drums), the ethereal-sounding ney provided the harmony, and the stringed santur played the rhythm, the backbone of the tune. Altaïr noticed that Tülay's spins were synchronized with high pitches, and there were many of them toward the end. He wondered how she hadn't grown dizzy yet; she just kept spinning, the skirt of her kaftan wavering around her, arms alternating as they rose and fell with each rotation. And then, after a flurry of notes, she stopped in an effortless backbend, wrists crossed and fingers extended like a pair of wings. The Assassin was convinced that she did in fact fly when she danced, for it was not possible to move so effortlessly unless she was gliding through the air.

Tülay oriented herself and looked around, seeing the sparkle of wonder in each man's eyes and even those of the servants as everyone applauded. Majd sat down once more, indicating that his guests do the same. "Such talent from one so young," he said after clearing his throat. "Your seat at my table is well-deserved." Tülay bowed her head, silently accepting the compliment. "The night is also still young so let the song and dance continue!" He clapped twice to summon more musicians with drums, tambourines and cymbals. The jovial tune they struck up pulled many men from their seats, including Heydar, and a large circle was formed between the tables. Several people invited the girl to dance with them but she politely declined. She'd had her moment; she didn't regret it, but she had the feeling that Majd wanted to judge something other than her performance.

* * *

Majd and Talal abandoned the festivities to speak in a private alcove. The latter had his arms folded across the chest of his black tunic. "That girl is quite the treasure to your nephew."

"Yes," the older man agreed, "I now know why he was reluctant to bring her tonight. I heard from Razan a description of her beauty, but I was not expecting there to be such depth to her character."

"Talented as she is," Talal went on in a low voice, "I do not know if Isaac will approve. She is much different than the girls I usually bring him."

Majd snickered. "Well, if  _he_  does not want her,  _you_  can keep her! Leharas accepted your coin, after all."

"Along with your contribution, which I am thankful was enough to persuade the boy."

The man in blue robes sniffed disdainfully. "I'll do whatever it takes to keep Isaac on that island instead of in my city. If that means I need to trade my nephew's lover for another day of peace, so be it."

Talal snorted. "No offense, my friend, but your nephew is not man enough to handle that type of woman!"

"You are probably right. His father died without any brides, and he works too much to keep a woman happy." Majd peered around the corner. "Do not let anyone from the party see you, especially after you've procured the girl. I apologize in advance if Leharas tries to act the hero by interfering."

The blue-eyed man smiled cruelly. "He cannot outwit me, even if he does decide to run."

* * *

"Tülay!" Leharas shouted; it took a bit of effort to make his voice heard over the festivities. A new wave of regret wash over him when she glanced his way, and her smile was crushing as he approached her seat. "It has grown rather late... I want to go."

"Please do not feel you need to stay for my sake," the girl beamed. "I have had a wonderful time."

"Thank you. Let me just say goodbye to my uncle."

Tülay noticed his dejected demeanor and furrowed her brow. Why couldn't he just enjoy himself?  _'Leharas is too serious for his own good!'_  she decided, and bid Heydar goodnight. He hoped to see her again someday. Leharas returned even gloomier than before, walking out into the brisk night air in utter silence. "What is wrong?" the girl inquired, since there was obviously something bothering him. "Did you not enjoy the party?"

"I was..." Leharas said after several steps down the road, "But then my uncle..." He turned a fearful gaze upon her, an infectious one that made Tülay's heart beat harder in her chest.

She whispered nervously. "What happened? What did he say to you?"

He halted as a shadowy figure detached from the side of a house, taking deliberate strides toward them. "This way..." He guided Tülay down a narrow lane where there were no torches lit, constantly craning his neck to look behind them.

"What is going on?" the girl demanded. Right then the figure appeared at the other end of the street. Leharas shouted as it sprinted toward them.

 _"Run!"_  he cried, shoving the girl forward. In the darkened alley Tülay failed to see the obstacles before her and only managed a few strides before her foot got caught in a pile of rope. Leharas slid to a stop, yanked her back to her feet and pulled her along. They exited the alley onto a main thoroughfare but again someone was waiting in the shadows. "Damn it!" the scribe hissed. The quickest route to his home was blocked off, but there were other paths he knew.

"Leharas...!" Tülay gasped as she was tugged in a new direction. What in the world was going on? They ran back in the direction of the party where the area was better lit. Leharas glanced over his shoulder and cursed again when he realized the two cloaked men were gaining on them. He abruptly ducked into an empty merchant tent and waited at the rear. "What is happening?" Tülay whispered as she tried to catch her breath.

"Shh!" was the reply. Leharas assumed a defensive position, waiting for one of the curtains to peel back as the mercenaries caught up to them. But all was still. "Maybe we lost them," he breathed in relief. "Quickly, climb up on the roof. There's a ladder against that post." Ignoring Tülay's confused expression, he slipped through the back wall and placed a foot on the first rung. "Come on."

"Who is chasing us?" the girl wanted to know, gathering her skirts up to scale the ladder. Leharas crawled across the canvas roof, his head turning in all directions.

"Follow me. We'll reach my home by crossing the rooftops. Stay low."

"Leharas!" Tülay spat, finally earning his attention. " _What_  in the name of Allah are you  _doing?_ "

He stared back blankly. "I'm trying to save you, Tülay. I won't let them take you. I won't let  _him_  have you. We  _have_  to go."

"Who is—"

"Stop asking questions!" he said, but he couldn't hold her gaze for very long. If– no,  _when_  they made it safely to his villa he would explain everything. They clambered across the rooftops while Leharas' attention constantly darted to the streets. The closer they got to the wall surrounding his home the more mercenaries he spied. They carried torches and went down every road looking for the runaway youths.

Finally, when they were just two buildings away, Leharas froze in his tracks. The person he really didn't want to see was waiting in the courtyard. "Keep searching!" Talal commanded. "Check the sewers if you must! I paid for that girl and I need her on the boat by tomorrow night!"

Leharas slowly rotated to face Tülay, who looked at him in shock. "Are all these soldiers looking for  _me?_ "

"I am a fool..." the young man began, but then a chilling cry went up.

"There! On the roof of that building!"

Men instantly scrambled to climb the wall and for a moment Leharas couldn't move. Where could they go? Where could he take Tülay where they would not find her? "This way!" He snatched her wrist again, making her struggle to keep pace as he headed for the east city exit that would allow them to escape into the surrounding hills. _'Assuming we make it!'_  he thought, ignoring the growing distance between each landing. Soon, however, they had to stop at the edge of a building bordering the main road; it was much too far to jump to the shop across the street. An unfinished store had scaffolding along its front, so the boy hopped over the side and scurried down it. "Come on!" he anxiously called. Just as Tülay placed her foot in a crook of the wooden frame, Leharas' weight and frantic velocity caused the bottom supports to give out. He landed hard on his back and all the air left his lungs. In slow motion he saw Tülay begin to fall, her fingers slipping off the roof ledge...

But she never hit the ground. Instead of crashing into the pile of splintered wood she was caught by a vambrace-covered hand. Leharas blinked a few times until it registered that the arm was covered by a black sleeve with yellow stripes... the garb of Talal. "That was too close for comfort," the man coolly stated. He then hefted the girl back to the rooftop where many other mercenaries were waiting. "You two certainly gave me a run for my money."

Tülay was stunned. On the one hand Talal had probably just saved her life. But on the other he was the one Leharas fled from. She spoke after regaining her breath. "Why were you chasing us? What do you want?"

White teeth separated Talal's full lips. "You, my dear girl. All I wanted was you. I made a deal with that fool boy but evidently he tried to go back on his word. I don't take too kindly to thieves, especially ones who steal something of great value not only to me, but all of Jerusalem!"

Tülay shook her head in confusion. "What on earth are you talking about?" Below, Leharas groaned and managed to rest on his knees, reaching a beseeching hand toward them.

"No, Talal... You can't take her! I made a mistake!"

The man scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Keep saying things that prove your idiocy, Leharas. What did you think spiriting her away would do, hmm? You accepted my coin, so now she belongs to  _me_."

Tülay spun to face the boy as well. "You...  _sold_  me? To him?" He hung his head to avoid the betrayal in her eyes. "How could you?! I am not your property!" Suddenly her arms were wrenched back as rope encircled her wrists. "Leharas!" the girl pleaded, "You cannot let them do this!"

"It's too late," Talal sneered. "You're about to serve a higher purpose. Cover her mouth." Before Tülay could cry out again a thick cloth slid over her lips and a hoarse sound emanated from her throat. One of the underlings shoved her forward, an action that earned him a slap. "Carry her, fool!" Talal growled. "You think she can get down from here without hands?"

"Sorry Sir," the soldier mumbled. He then hoisted Tülay over his shoulder, wincing as she struggled with all her might. It didn't help that the fabric of her clothing was slippery.

* * *

They returned to Leharas' mansion where many of the servants were standing around in question of the strange men. Talal strode up to the old sweeper woman. "Did you pack all her belongings like I asked?"

"Everything from her room, yes," she answered, quivering. "Where is our master?"

"He'll be along shortly." Talal flashed a malicious smile, then turned to address his men. "To the carts! We're already behind schedule, move out!"

The only thing on Tülay's mind was the question of how Leharas could trade money for her life. Clearly that was the transaction she had witnessed at dinner, and his uncle had even contributed to his purse! Why did Talal want her, though? Then she realized she had not spoken to Altaïr in over two weeks. Was he watching at this very moment, waiting for the perfect time to rescue her? What if he had left Jerusalem long ago, returned to Masyaf to wait for her report?

She was placed in a cage atop a horse-drawn wagon and for a full day the mercenary party traversed the desert, leaving Jerusalem behind. She faded in and out of consciousness since her mind was completely overwhelmed by the situation and all her senses seemed to shut down. When her eyes opened next, however, they took in the newly-set sun splashing pink and orange hues over the horizon.

"Jaffa port..." a male voice announced. "We should have been here before nightfall." The cage door creaked open; Tülay was once again slung over a pair of broad shoulders. The sound of the sea reached her ears and she tried to twist around in order to see it. "Quit squirming," the man carrying her said gruffly.

Her eyes widened as they passed over a gangplank, blackened water beneath.  _'A ship?'_  Tülay wondered, and judging by the orders she heard about rigging and sails she was correct.  _'Where are they taking me?'_

"Are we ready to cast off yet?" Talal demanded of the captain.

By the sound of his voice he was more wizened, and exasperated. "Yes, Talal. Did you get the girl?"

"See for yourself."

Tülay looked at a man whose eyes held nothing but pity. "Pretty, she is. Isaac doesn't deserve her."

"Would you rather have his sword in your gut? Just get this damned boat to Limassol! I hate open water..." The last bit he muttered, but Tülay heard the words and snickered. Talal's eyes widened before reducing to slits. "Put the girl in the bri—" He paused, then, a dignified smile curling his lips. He lifted her chin with one lithe finger. "On second thought, put her in my quarters. The brig is no place for such precious cargo."

"But, Sir..." This from the man still holding her. She raised her eyebrows at the mercenary leader, who reached out to remove the cloth from her mouth.

"My quarters, Aziz," Talal calmly reiterated. "Bring her things as well."

She thought about screaming and shouting to alert anyone near the quay, but then it dawned on her that Talal had been doing this –kidnapping girls to take them to Isaac, whoever that was– for a long time. None of the sailors seemed disturbed by the situation, so they must be in his pocket as well. Her second clue was Limassol– that was on Cyprus if she remembered her geography correctly. _'Perhaps I will find an Assassin bureau...'_ It was a nice thought, but Tülay knew she was on her own. Altaïr wasn't going to rescue her; he would have done so by now. She was terrified, and the only words she could recall from the Master Assassin were _"a clear mind is one that can figure a way out of any situation"_.

Could that advice be applied to escaping an island in the middle of the Mediterranean Sea?


	10. Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bir cakal cocugu: son of a jackal  
> Keriz: fool  
> Orospu cocugu: son of a bitch  
> Ustumden: get away from me

**Sacrilege**

Tülay pressed her back against the wall of Talal's cabin. She offered him an icy glare while he moved about, sorting things into neat stacks and returning fallen items to their shelves. Every few minutes he would glance over his shoulder to offer her a cunning smile. "Why do you loath me?" her captor asked. He went to a trunk at the end of his bed and pulled the black and yellow-striped tunic over his head, revealing well-defined muscles.

"You  _abducted_  me," the girl replied.

He shrugged. "I'm granting you a better life. Perhaps if you would stop believing me to be the devil incarnate, I might tell you why you've been chosen."

"...Chosen?" Tülay instantly regretted giving him the satisfaction of a response. Oh well. "For what?" She eyed the man while he loosened his belt, then removed the scabbard housing his shamshir and placed both in the trunk

"You've been chosen to help protect the city of Jerusalem."

"Is that so?" she snorted. "I can hardly imagine how abducting  _me_  benefits an entire populace."

"You speak our language well," Talal commented. "Isaac will appreciate that."

"Would you rather I speak my native tongue?" She didn't wait for an answer. "Bir çakal çocuğu."

Talal's eyes narrowed slightly. "I'm certain you just insulted me."

"No, it was a compliment." The girl smirked and folded her arms, resting her weight against the wall. "One of many I shall happily bestow upon this Isaac."

"You have no idea who he is." Talal mirrored her expression and waited.

They held a staring contest; the man was confident his prisoner would take the bait. Tülay's nostrils flared as she finally released a huffy breath. "All right, you win. Who is this Isaac? Why do you work for him?"

"Bah!" he exclaimed. "Never in a thousand years would I work for a mons— I mean... a  _master_  like him."

"The master of Limassol?" Tülay deduced. "You mean a lord? A noble?"

Talal scoffed again. "A  _noble_... Yes, he is the Lord of Cyprus."

"You gave Leharas money so he would let you take me to Isaac." She shook her head, laughing incredulously. "To what end does it serve?"

Talal's haughtiness receded... for a moment. "Isaac has a weakness for women, beautiful women at that. He has 'exhausted' all the ones he deemed worthy on his island. But a few years ago he and his mercenary army sought to invade Jerusalem for two reasons. The first was to spite Richard the Lionheart, the second to sate his desire for young virgins."

"He sounds like a revolting man." She tried to ignore that fact that  _she_  was a young virgin.

Her captor nodded in agreement. "Majd Addin pleaded for the sanctity of Jerusalem. He agreed to send Isaac one beautiful, pure woman each month if it would prevent him from besieging us. Isaac agreed, and to this day it is my duty to ferry the girls to him."

Tülay tossed her hair and arrogantly lifted her chin. "How do you know  _I_  am pure? I spent many nights under the same roof as Leharas."

"Bah- _ha!_ " Talal barked, "I know for a fact that mouse of a boy did not lay a single finger upon you!"

"What proof do you have?" she challenged.

In a single swift movement, Talal crossed the room and trapped her between his arms. Tülay was drawn in by his spectral blue eyes, their predatory gleam equally frightening and thrilling. "He lacks the confidence..." the man whispered as one of his hands fell to her waist. She didn't flinch, so he leaned closer. "He has no idea how to satisfy you."

"A-and you think you d-do?" Tülay stammered. Heat blossomed in her chest, sending her heart into a beating frenzy. With Talal this close she realized how powerful and confident he was.  _'Allah kahretsin, no..._ _He is a vile man who has made you a slave!'_   "Talal..." It was difficult to focus with him breathing down her neck. "You said Isaac would not approve!"

She felt his smile against her skin, causing her breath to hitch and her palms to sweat. "There are many other girls that would placate Isaac, ones far less...  _intriguing_  as you. I have never seen a dance as evocative as the one you showed me last night," Talal continued, the words flowing into her ear as a serpentine whisper. "I can only imagine how it would feel to have you move like that... in my bed."

"I would never lie with you!" Tülay hissed, turning to avoid his lips. She ducked beneath his arm and threw herself at the opposite side of the room, falling against an armoire. She felt like a rabbit trying to escape a panther, for that was the manner in which Talal encroached upon her.

"Come now, girl. All I want is a single kiss." He crept closer while Tülay inched toward his trunk, seemingly cornering herself. Talal sprang forward, instantly closing the distance between them. She hurdled the trunk, nimbly escaping his grasp by sliding across the corner of the bed and replanting her feet on the ground. In her haste to escape, however, she slipped on the rug and nearly face-planted just as the door opened to reveal a pair of dirty boots.

"Talal!" the captain shouted, "What in the name of the prophet are you doing?! How dare you force yourself on this girl! Isaac would have your head!"

The shirtless man quickly composed himself. Having crashed into the dresser, he couldn't quite conceal his pain behind his mask of cold arrogance. The men glared daggers at one another until Talal spat and looked away, then the captain knelt to help Tülay to her feet. "Are you all right?"

"Yes..." she groaned, rubbing her stomach which had taken the brunt of the fall.

"You'll stay in my quarters, then." It was more of a warning statement to Talal than a suggestion. Tülay obliged the older man with a few nods. "Are you hungry?"

"No, thank you."

There was a brief silence as they crossed the deck. "Fool man..." the captain remarked of the mercenary leader. "He knows what we all risk if Isaac Comnenus receives a ruined maiden."

Tülay angrily extricated herself from her savior's kind embrace. "Is that all I am to you people?" she shouted, earning a few looks. "A piece of meat for a lion that makes empty threats from its den?"

The captain winced. "It is much more complicated than that, young lady."

"I  _do not care!_ " She was screaming now. "How many other girls have you ferried to their doom, keriz? How many of them simply  _gave up_  before reaching the shore of Cyprus? I am not going to be your sacrifice! Jerusalem is  _not_  my home!"

Talal emerged from his cabin fully clothed and strictly pointed at the irate female passenger. "Listen to me, you  _stupid_  girl—!"

Her hand whipped across his cheek, abruptly silencing him. "I have a name!" she cried. "I am Tülay! I was not born in this land and it is not my duty to save it!" She sprinted for the side of the ship, getting so far as to plant both feet on the railing. Just as she jumped for the dark waters, though, several pairs of arms encircled her waist and limbs. Members of the crew held her down as they slipped her wrists into iron cuffs and tried lashing her feet together. "Let go of me!" Tülay kicked furiously, flinging her slippers off. "I would rather  _die_  than go to him! Üstümden! Orospu çocuğu, Talal!"

As the crew hauled her flailing form below deck Talal and the captain stood in silence, one apathetic to the situation, the other wishing it could be avoided entirely. "Isn't it curious how people resort to their native tongue in times of distress?" the mercenary flippantly inquired.

* * *

Altaïr exited the bureau he had called home for a month, venturing into the bright, bustling streets of the rich district of Jerusalem. He leather boots fell purposefully upon the brick road and his tailed robe streamed behind him as he took lengthy, deliberate strides. He made fists, causing the veins in his forearms to bulge, tightening his bracers. His teeth were clenched and he aimed his eyes at the ground lest he terrorize an innocent bystander with one seething glare. He exuded an aura that made children cling to the skirts of their mothers, and even the hardiest of men stepped out of his way.

When Altaïr arrived at the mansion, the two guards stationed outside immediately approached. "What business do you have with Leharas Addin?" one of them asked. The Assassin shoved his helmeted head into the high wall, knocking him out. "Hey!" the other hireling protested, but he quickly found himself in the same position. Altaïr drew his long sword, slicing at the chain keeping the gate closed. His ferocity severed it easily.

Leharas heard the commotion from his study and stepped onto the balcony with a frown. "What's going on out here?" Then he saw the white-robed figure crossing the courtyard and all the color drained from his face.

Altaïr took the balcony stairs two at a time. Leharas fled in the opposite direction as fast as he could, but his attire, and perhaps karma, conspired against him. He tripped on his long robe while rounding a corner and barely caught himself. The Assassin pounced, snatching up handfuls of fabric and slamming Leharas against the wall. His spectacles fell to the floor as his head bounced. "Where  _is_  she?" Altaïr snarled. Leharas was too slow to answer, so his skull cracked again. "Where is Tülay?!" He was not going to ask a third time.

"Sh-sh-she was taken!" the boy managed to sputter. "A mercenary ship... they took her to Cyprus!"

Altaïr released him and he crumpled to the ground. "That is  _not_  what my informant tells me. He says you  _sold_  Tülay to a man working for your uncle. Tell me..." He yanked the boy's head up by his hair, then unsheathed his fighting knife and pressed it to Leharas' throat. "Why did you  _betray_  a member of our Order? Is the reason worth dying for?"

"No, please!" The scribe struggled to his knees. "I had no choice! The men of the city, they spoke to my uncle about her! He made me sell her to appease Isaac Comnenus, as protection for Jerusalem!" He reached for Altaïr's boot to beg for mercy. The Master Assassin kicked his hand away.

"You are a despicable human being," Altaïr hissed. "Al Mualim has already been informed of your treachery. You are hereby exiled from the Order." The man in white began to walk away. Leharas tried to crawl after him before realizing how foolish and pathetic he must look. He fell to his side laughing manically.

"So that's it then? I am kicked out of your silly secret society? Someone as simple-minded as you cannot fathom the importance behind Tülay's sacrifice!" Altaïr halted and turned around. "I really regret it, too!" Leharas cackled. "It's such a shame! She was so beautiful, so talented and intelligent... She would have made a perfect bride! You'll  _never_  see her again!"

Altaïr knelt beside Leharas, who chortled delightedly at his victory over the man. His crazed laughter ceased when Altaïr positioned his missing ring finger above the scribe's right eye and triggered the Hidden Blade.

 _"AAAHHHHH!"_  Leharas howled and writhed in agony as blood spurted from his face. Altaïr held him by the throat, keeping him still just long enough to gouge out his other eye. Leharas' wailing drew the attention of his servants, but none of them were brave enough to come to his aid. Altaïr righted himself and looked down on the younger man with the utmost abhorrence.

"You will never  _see_  again," he said.

* * *

"Come on, you have to eat  _something_." The quartermaster again tried to coax Tülay from her bed of straw at the far side of the cell. As usual she remained immobile, so he sighed and pushed a tin plate across the floor. The girl watched him leave, moving once his feet disappeared from the stairs. The offering consisted of plain bread and dates, food items that lasted a long time at sea. Tülay brought them to her dry lips, chewing slowly. She considered numerous means of escape, but none were possible without getting the key off the quartermaster's belt.

If she had the concealed weapon from Al Mualim, she could use it to break the interior of the lock. But all of her effects were still in Talal's possession. A sudden new idea gave her the strength to stand. "Guard!" she hoarsely called out.

Brisk footsteps resounded from another area of the brig and a man unknown to Tülay appeared with concern on his visage. "What's the matter?"

His eagerness to help made her smile. "What are you called, good man?"

Her friendly tone of voice made him nervous. "M-my name is Raheem. Forgive me for forgetting yours."

Tülay sighed dejectedly. "It is no longer important. When this ship reaches port, I shall become whoever Isaac wants me to be." She drew her hands to her face to feign weeping. "At the very least..." she trembled, "I should like not to be seen in these filthy garments."

Raheem cleared his throat. "You... have other clothes?"

The girl nodded, sniffling. "I do, but Talal keeps them. See how soiled my kaftan is? Who would find  _this_ attractive?"

"I could retrieve your belongings from Talal," the enamored man quickly suggested, "then you could beautify yourself." Tülay eyed him from behind a veil of fake tears. "However, I'm not certain you even need to."

"How kind you are," she said with a shy smile. "If it would not trouble you, perhaps you could also find me a basin and fresh water?"

The man nodded briskly. "I can do that. Give me a minute." He ascended the stairs and promptly returned with Tülay's bag and the quartermaster. After rummaging through the cargo they stood outside her cell with a wooden bucket and unopened barrel of water. "The captain also thinks you should look your best for Isaac," Raheem said. He seemed saddened as he said this. The quartermaster opened the cell door to deposit everything, but upon locking it again he gave the keys to the younger man. Tülay had planned to ask Raheem to steal them, but this expedited her scheme.

Raheem stood with his back against the door as she filled the basin with some of the water and dumped oils from her bag into it, scenting the air with almond, vanilla and rose. It was of her most potent combinations, an unmistakably feminine perfume that ensnared the senses. Tülay removed her once-luxurious silk kaftan, tore off a piece of fabric from one of her other garments, and began the lengthy process of bathing without an actual bath.

After several minutes the inevitable happened: Raheem rotated to inspect her regimen and found her standing naked in the basin. Her back was to him as she dumped the rest of the fresh water over her head to rinse out the oils. It wasn't often he was gifted with an unimpeded view of a woman's shapely posterior, and he stood there longingly until Tülay fished an Egyptian cotton towel from her bag, dabbing gingerly at her face. She then glanced over her shoulder at him, all sleek wet hair, hooded eyes and dewy skin, and smiled in mock diffidence. "What is it, Raheem?" she whispered. Everything created the illusion of intimacy.

"Isaac doesn't deserve you." His voice was thick with lust.

"Do you think Talal deserves me?" She was an expert at playing the coy maiden; it had granted her access to certain areas of the palace when guards turned away most others.

Raheem simply shook his head. "That man is a snake. We all hate him. We hate the agreement Addin made with Comnenus– it's immoral." He gripped the bars and leaned forward, slotting his face between them. "I've heard that you're a Turk. You're from the capital of the Seljuq Sultanate." Tülay nodded while drying her hair. "Your people adapt Persian philosophies, like the teachings of Zarathustra... I know Turkish women have more freedoms than Ayyubid women."

Tülay hadn't figured this completely unassuming man to take interest in religion or philosophy and so decided to let him live. She had planned to slip her Hidden Blade into his neck and take the keys to liberate herself, but it sounded as if he –and every other man on the ship– thought she shouldn't even be here. "Are you going to release me?" she asked.

She was not that surprised when Raheem shook his head again, though he did so in resignation. "We don't like it, but we do as Talal commands. He's the one who pays us. We need to eat. We need to clothe ourselves. We need to raise our children. That's why we're taking you to Isaac."

"You are stealing from me the freedom I was granted by being born in the Sultanate." Tülay secured her brassier and stepped into her clean white pants before fully facing the man, waiting for his gaze to finish ravaging her body. "Would you think differently if it were a man's freedom you were stealing?"

"No," Raheem answered. "The fact remains that when we bring someone to Isaac, he stays on Cyprus. Jerusalem and the surrounding villages are spared his might. Salah al'Din would easily meet him in battle, but he wouldn't arrive in time. It takes just two days to sail from Jaffa to Limassol, much longer to move a vast army." He sighed, closing his eyes. When he opened them they begged forgiveness. "I wish it didn't have to be this way. I wish we didn't have to sacrifice one innocent girl to save ourselves, but that's just how it is."

 _'It would not be if Majd Addin were not in charge of Jerusalem...'_  the girl thought.  _'This is his doing. He deserves death.'_

Tülay finished dressing in her Assassin attire, triggering the Hidden Blade after Raheem went upstairs. She could hear that they had docked, and shortly the crew came down to load supplies into a net. Even if she did threaten Raheem into setting her free, someone else would stop her. She stood against the wooden wall of her cell and closed her eyes. She could hear that the port was extremely busy; perhaps she could barter passage onto some other vessel. Even if it sailed as far away as Alexandria she could get back to Masyaf if she had money, and all she need do to earn money was dance.

Boisterous footsteps alerted her to Talal's presence. He smiled coldly while Raheem unlocked the door, then he entered the cell and bound her hands with rope. She couldn't help but smile back– he'd soon realize the mistake of not using iron. The sunlight made her wince; after adjusting to it she examined her surroundings, plotting escape routes. As they marched through the city Tülay noticed how the commoners shrank against buildings to give the mercenaries a wide berth, and there was not a single woman her age among them. Isaac had defiled them all. _  
_

Tülay waited until her captors entered the market, a wide lane lined with vendor stalls and plenty of crates. She then unsheathed the Hidden Blade, stealthily sliced through her bonds, and stopped so suddenly that Raheem bumped into her. She spun around and pushed her lips into his, smiling at his stunned countenance, then spun again and all but leaped on the man who had been leading her, sending him sprawling into his comrades. Talal shouted something as she made a beeline for a stack of crates leading to the nearest roof. She had already jumped to the next building over by the time the mercenaries organized themselves into a pursuing party.

Altaïr's advice about hiding in plain sight was not applicable to Limassol. Tülay was the only young woman among the crowd and was dressed very conspicuously. She surveyed the quays, watching and listening to each crew in an attempt to discern which one would get her to the mainland. Most of them were European, much to her chagrin, but she heard shouting in multiple languages, including Arabic. She was so focused on the ships that she didn't realize Talal had spotted her in the doorway of a squat building. He came through it, disturbing the vendor who worked there, and slipped one hand over her mouth while wrenching her arm back. She struggled in his grip, cringing as he hissed in her ear. "A brave attempt, but you aren't smart enough to outrun me." He marched her forward; some people stared but no one made any effort to stop him. "You've kept Isaac waiting long enough."

* * *

Tülay had formed a vision of Isaac Comnenus in her mind; in person he was much more sinister. The way his lips curled at one corner as soon as he saw her was enough to make her blood turn cold. The Lord of Cyprus slowly rose from the red velvet cushion of his throne while Talal begrudgingly strode up to him. "Lord Isaac," he said in a humble tone, "please accept this token of Jerusalem's gratitude... for your mercy."

Everyone in the court held their breath while the man circled Tülay. His deep brown eyes held a golden sheen; they were narrow and turned up sharply at the edges, not unlike a wolf. Dark sepia strands of hair stuck out like a lion's mane and stubble framed his lips. Isaac had a dull scar below one eye that hinted at his lifestyle. He wore tan cotton trousers, a black tabard over a short-sleeved shirt, leather bracers, and knee-length boots with metal greaves. Each slow step around the girl was punctuated by a slight rattle until he finished his assessment.

"You may go now," the powerful man said to Talal. His voice, deep and slightly raspy from yelling too many orders, made Tülay bristle with antipathy. The thought of such a man hovering fervidly above her set her skin crawling. "All of you, leave." Isaac waved his arm to disperse the soldiers lining the keep; in mere moments they were alone. The smile he offered did nothing to placate her growing repulsion. "What is your name, fair maiden?" There was genuine curiosity in his tone even though Tülay saw right through his polite façade.

Still, at the risk of losing her head, she spoke. "My name is Tülay al-Mhámmed."

Isaac edged forward a little. "Tülay..." he repeated, flicking his tongue at the L. "Beautiful. What is its meaning?"

"New moon."

He accepted the answer with a nod. "No doubt you were named after your mother. What is she called?"

"Ayla."

"And your father is?" he prompted.

"Zanarhi al-Mhámmed."

Isaac smirked a little, turning to face an enormous tapestry decorating one wall of the vast chamber. "You were not born in Jerusalem, were you?"

"No," the girl answered honestly, "I was born in Antalya."

"So how did it come to pass that Talal has brought you to me?"

She sensed the truth would continue to protect her. "I wanted to see the land of my father. I journeyed to Jerusalem to stay with a relative of its regent. He invited me to a banquet where Talal was in attendance. After the festivities, he..."  _'Abducted! Kidnapped! Snatched!'_   "...gathered me for your approval."

Once more Isaac faced the girl, smoothing his mustache with two fingers. "This rather perturbs me, Tülay. It seems Talal and Majd Addin have not properly honored our agreement, thus I must no longer grant them clemency. In fact, striking Jerusalem now would deal a great blow to Richard's ill-deserved pride."

Tülay blurted out her response before considering the consequences. "You cannot do that! Certainly I would like to see those two men hang for their crimes, but they are outnumbered by innocents! Hard-working men strive each day to provide for their families, their wives and children, so they can live in peace and happiness! You would only be staining your hands with the blood of innocent people!"

Isaac looked down at the girl incredulously. She had courage if she believed she could tell him what he could and could not do in his own domain! There was a kind of fire in her eyes and strength in her brow, one he had not seen in a woman in a long, long time. "You are different from most who come here," he said after contemplating her plea. "You seem to believe your life will return to the one you've always had."

"Of course I believe that! It is not my desire to live here as your  _prisoner_..." She clamped her mouth shut, averting her gaze.

Isaac took up her fists in his own weathered and scarred fingers. Tülay could not discern the expression he wore. "You fear me, don't you?" It was an observation, not a question.

"Yes..." she quietly admitted.

"Yet you do not know who I really am. All you have been told of me you heard from the likes of Talal, and he is as trustworthy as a sewer rat." She remained silent as Isaac released a weary sigh. "Do you know why I love women, Tülay? Do you know why I long to bask in the presence of beautiful girls like you?" She met his mysterious eyes. They held an otherworldly sheen, as if Isaac had left his mortal shell to seek the light of something more holy. His grip tightened a little. "It is because women are  _powerful_ , Tülay. They are the reason why men are allowed to exist! As the bearer of our species, men should honor and respect women... deify them, even!"

Tülay recoiled at his frenzied nature although her hands were still held fast. "A woman's smile melts the hardest of hearts. Her voice can sooth even the most ferocious of beasts. Her  _body_..." Isaac released a low rumble full of want. "...ensnares all the senses of man. I desire that power, Tülay. I become stronger with each woman I lay with." He let her go, then, standing rigidly while she put some distance between them. "You probably believe there is nothing significant about you," he gestured. "You are but one young, humble girl in this ever-expanding world. But to me, you  _are_  the world! And all I ask is that you let me... unlock your potential."

Her mind was racing.  _'Lucidity has forsaken this man!'_   She breathed deeply in preparation for the answer she would receive to her next question. "Lord Isaac, just how will you do that?"

A distorted smile snaked across his face as he held out his palm. "It will only take one night, dear girl… One night with me will abolish your virginity, and I will make you into a goddess."


	11. Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Affedersiniz: excuse me  
> Effendi: sir  
> Pic: bastard

**Enigma**

Having returned to Masyaf, Altaïr banged his fist down upon Al Mualim's desk. He was infuriated that the Mentor sat there indifferently after saying what he did to the Master Assassin. "We cannot just leave her to die!" Altaïr protested angrily. "I've heard rumors about Cyprus– it is no place for a woman, much less a girl like Tülay! Even with the training she's received, it will do her no good against the likes of Isaac Comnenus and his vile men!" He pushed himself away from the desk before being compelled to smack its contents to the floor. Pacing to and fro did little to calm him, though.

"She knew the dangers associated with the mission, Altaïr, as did you."

"I wasn't expecting her to become the victim of a cruel bargain between Cyprus and Jerusalem!" the man in white retaliated. "You  _must_  allow me to take a few men to Tyre. We can sail to Cyprus and rescue Tülay."  _'If she hasn't been killed before then...'_  He shook his head violently at the thought.

Al Mualim laced his fingers beneath his chin. "Cyprus is beyond our reach, Altaïr. We have no informants there, no safe places for you to rejuvenate. We know not the layout of that island nor the nature of its inhabitants. I am not going to allow you to potentially lead your brothers to their doom."

The man growled in frustration. "Then you are condemning our  _sister_  to death. I'm going to find a way to bring her home regardless..."

"You. Will.  _Not._ " Al Mualim stood, glaring. "I forbid you to leave this stronghold."

His mouth dropped open, incredulous. Did Al Mualim really just confine him to Masyaf? "Master..." Altaïr almost pleaded but knew it would be foolish to argue the point further. Stifling his rage, he spun on his heel and exited the chamber. When he got to his room he slammed the door. He circled it a few times, growling and muttering to himself while refraining from throwing his personal things about. "If Al Mualim won't let me help her, I'll just have to send someone else..." An unexpected knock came. Altaïr opened the door under the assumption that a guard had been assigned to keep an eye on him, but instead he faced the concerned visage of Telash.

The youth bowed slightly. "Master Altaïr, I've heard a terrible rumor. Tell me... is Tülay lost to us? Is it true?" The boy's eyes begged for the answer to be "no", but Altaïr's blank expression and somber silence revealed the truth. Telash sighed heavily. "So, she is on Cyprus. Yet another victim of Isaac Comnenus' insatiable lust."

Altaïr tilted his head back, looking down his nose at the boy. "What do you know of him? You must tell me."

Another hopeless sigh. "He is a violent, tempestuous man who loves nothing more than defiling virgins and making the lives of the people as miserable as possible. He seldom leaves the stronghold in Limassol, but when he does he is surrounded by his mercenary army. Murderers, debauchers, thieves, convicts of all sorts who had no power in their homeland yet have attained it by following Comnenus."

"The man sounds paranoid, traveling with such a force," Altaïr mused. "What is he afraid of?"

"Richard the Lionheart," Telash answered. "Isaac taunts Richard with his conquest of Cyprus."

"Just how did you acquire this information, boy?"

Telash smirked a little, mussing his hair. "I read. The archives have written accounts of many events from witnesses who were actually there."

"I see... Let us go to the library, then. While  _I_  have been forbidden from extending a hand to aid Tülay, there just may be something you can do."

 _"Me?_ But I-I'm just a novice!"

"Yes..." Altaïr grinned, "and that is why no one will notice your absence."

* * *

Isaac's stronghold was not very impressive from the outside, but within its simple stone walls and below the ground were myriad rooms and halls. Tülay referred to the maze as a den of serpents. Very few of Isaac's loyal soldiers spoke a language besides Greek or Latin so it was almost impossible to communicate with them. Throughout the day they escorted her to various activities, but each morning was always the same. Gritting her teeth, Tülay let the man undress her, which he did very slowly, before stepping into a bath. Isaac silently watched her wash, and when she was done he would clothe her in strange outfits that supposedly made her look like women from Greek mythology.

Sometimes Isaac was Apollo, the sun god, and Tülay was Daphne, a nymph he pursued around the castle. Other times they were Andromeda and Perseus, Helene and Paris, or Leto and Zeus. He was fond of bondage and enjoyed watching as she struggled to get free. Tülay entered a partial fugue state as the man tormented her each day, but all she could feel when she went to sleep were the burn marks his fingers left on her skin. If Talal hadn't taken her cuff with the Hidden Blade, she would have killed the Lord of Cyprus with it.

Isaac's other source of pleasure was derived from slaughtering innocents; Tülay learned this after a week in captivity. She sat beside his throne while wearing her dance costume, wondering what new seduction techniques he would attempt later. But then one of the soldiers shoved the double doors open and threw himself at his lord's feet. "Sir Isaac," the man panted, "there is a rebellion growing in the market!"

A bored expression remained on his face. "So why have you come here instead of remaining by the sides of your brothers?"

The soldier swallowed nervously. "My company... was slain."

"...By the peasants?" Isaac clarified. Tülay braced herself for what the clipped words would unleash.

"Yes. They were armed and far exceeded our numbers."

In the next instant Isaac rose from his chair, flew down the steps and slit the soldier's throat with a dagger. Tülay gasped, closing her eyes to the pool of blood staining the floor.  _"YOU SHOULD HAVE DIED WITH THEM!"_  the man bellowed, grabbing the sheathed claymore that leaned against the armrest. As he exited the throne room, the men who had been standing idly by rushed to form ranks behind their lord.

Tülay took this opportunity to locate an exit she could utilize. But there were still soldiers within the fortress which she discovered when she nearly collided with a man in the narrow corridor leading to Isaac's room. "Ah! Affedersiniz…" She quickly deduced that he had come out of a door hidden behind a tapestry despite his attempt to shield it. Another glance informed her that he had a key on his belt. She smiled her most charming smile. "I am so sorry, Effendi. I was just on my way to change into something warmer. It is so cold in here." The soldier eyed her with interest but like all the others withheld any compliments. They knew she belonged to Isaac and he would kill anyone who touched her. Tülay used this to her advantage; perhaps if she could charm one of them into defying Isaac her escape would be made easier. Now, though, she really wanted to find out what was beyond that secret door.

When Isaac returned, his armor and face splattered with blood, he immediately disappeared into the bathing room and summoned Tülay a few minutes later. "What do you require, Lord Isaac?" She must not let him catch on to her scheme.

He sprawled in the tub, smiling smugly. "Scrub my back," he said. She approached hesitantly and knelt behind him with a loofah in hand. Thankfully a layer of bubbles shielded his lower body while she silently completed the task. Isaac groaned in relief, but the reprieve didn't last long. "Get in with me," he uttered, and the girl faltered. He swiveled to grab her by the waist, dragging her into the stone basin.

"Stop!" Tülay flailed. She had to invent a reason that would prevent them from being naked together, Allah knowing what he would do. "The bath oil you used..." she said, "it contains bergamot. It gives me a rash."

"Is that so?" To her great relief she was released. "My apologies, then. I wouldn't want anything to mar your beautiful skin." Tülay refrained from flinching while the man stroked her cheek. "I will be finished shortly, then I expect to see you in my chamber. I am going to try something I think you will enjoy."

 _'Unlikely, piç,'_  she thought while making a hasty retreat. The excuse bought her some time. She rushed to his room– not for the reasons Isaac wanted, but to search through his things to find a key to that hidden door. He had one for every lock in the castle and Tülay knew he wouldn't entrust any of them solely to his men, so there had to be a copy. With the help of a candle she rummaged through his dresser, armoire and bedside table.

Unknown to her, Isaac watched from the threshold. His eyes held a menacing sheen in the candlelight and his slow, steady breathing maintained his stealth as he crept up behind the girl, his footsteps muffled by the plush carpets. Tülay put her hands on her hips and sighed in disappointment. Isaac decided this would be an opportune time to make it clear that it was extremely rude of her to take advantage of his hospitality. "Failed to find what you were looking for?" She whirled around with a gasp, only to scream when he grabbed her roughly by the shoulders and shoved her onto the bed. "How long have you been thieving from me, Tülay? Is this how you show your gratitude?" His grip tightened, soliciting another yelp.

Tülay hoped he would stop if she were honest with him. "I… I was just looking… for a key!" She exhaled when his grip loosened.

"A key?" Isaac repeated. "A key to where?"

"The room behind the wolf tapestry."

The man pushed himself up to study her face. The fear there was evident as was the curiosity that had driven her to such actions. He couldn't help but smile, unable to stay mad at her innocent visage. "You must trust me when I say there is nothing valuable in that room, nothing worth your time. Nothing worth  _my_  time either, which is why it remains locked."

"I am sorry, Lord Isaac," Tülay shuddered. "I am too—"

"Headstrong," he finished. "I knew that before I even met you. Only one other woman attempted to escape Talal as vigorously as you."

 _'Is that supposed to flatter me?'_  She said nothing, training her eyes on his bare chest. Anywhere was better than meeting his predatory gaze.

"And no other woman has ever set my heart beating as rapidly as you do now." Isaac abruptly lowered to her collar bone and inhaled deeply, making her tense up as his warm breath crawled over her skin. "I don't believe I have told you how much I enjoy basking in your scent… I bet you taste just the same."

"Taste…? Ugh!" Tülay cringed as she felt Isaac's hot, wet tongue on her neck. He had never done anything of this sort, but maybe that was all about to change. Maybe he was tired of waiting for her to come to him on her own. Maybe he would rend her purity here and now. This thought paralyzed her and made her numb to the fact that Isaac's fingers were creeping under her halter top. Then his callouses scratched her, setting off her flight instincts.

Isaac had pushed her shirt up and his mouth was descending upon her breast. With a shout the girl crossed her arms over her chest and scooted away; yet as if he had predicted the movement his fingers snagged her skirt and Tülay practically unclothed herself while scrambling to the other side of the bed. "You already have the body of a goddess," Isaac remarked. "Now let me treat you like one." He pounced, trapping her beneath his muscular physique.

"Get off me!" Tülay shrieked and brought her knee up, narrowly missing the man's jaw. Something sparked in his eyes– perhaps rage at her defiance or the exhilaration of having to fight to get what he wanted. For a moment they stared at one another, then the girl somersaulted backwards off the bed, uncaring if she ran nearly-naked through the castle. She almost made it to the doorway before Isaac tackled her. "Hel–mph!" The man smothered her cry with his large hand, picked her up, and sat her down on the dresser. He shoved his waist between her legs, soliciting a fresh wave of terror at the realization that there were only a couple layers of thin fabric between her womanhood and his erection.

"Whatever is the matter, Tülay?" Isaac murmured while holding her jaw, forcing her to look at him. "I know you want this… I'm only granting your desires. I can feel them, you know…" His other hand slid up her inner thigh as tears began rolling down her cheeks. She knew it would be easier if she gave up, if she went limp and let Isaac have his way with her. She was an object to him, something he could play with and discard once he was bored. How long would it take him to tire of her, though? A few days, a week, a month? How many times would she be raped by this despicable man?

 _"There's always a way out of any situation..."_ It took her a second to recognize Rauf's voice in her mind.  _"Assessing your enemy is half the battle. You look for his strengths before his weaknesses– one must never underestimate their opponent. As a woman you will be considered weak, which you can use to your advantage. But I know you have a quick tongue, Tülay... Sometimes that is just what is needed to get out of a bind."_

Would words work on her captor? "Isaac..." she whispered. There was enough force in her tone to halt his offending hand. "Is this truly how you want me?"

He leaned back as she put on a coquettish mask. "No, Tülay, it isn't. I imagine you are not very comfortable, but you were running away from me."

She focused on her breathing; it wouldn't work if her heart was pounding frantically. "I was a bit overwhelmed by your zeal. I promise not to run if you release me."

Isaac considered this with a rumbling "hmm". "Perhaps I should tie you to the bedposts."

"But how could I massage you that way?" The man quirked his eyebrows and smiled, then released Tülay and backed away slowly. She slid off the dresser and held out a hand. "After you, my lord."

Her plan worked. Isaac lay on his stomach as she straddled his lower back and utilized everything she had learned about massage and acupressure from a Persian doctor whom Kilij Arslan had summoned after a battle. The sultan realized by then that it was impossible to keep Tülay out of his gardens, so he called her in and said "consider yourself lucky that I like your father", followed by "you may as well do something useful around here". At the age of twelve she practiced massage on one of Arslan's advisers, a young scholar from a remote region of the sultanate.  _'Not unlike Leharas...'_  she mused, increasing the pressure as she worked her way up to Isaac's neck. Once there she jammed the tips of her thumbs into two points at the base of his skull, and all the muscles in his body suddenly slackened.

Tülay praised her memory; she never thought she could apply old skills to this new way of life, the life of an Assassin.  _'Only if I make it back to Masyaf,'_  she reminded herself, and readjusted her clothing before returning to her chamber. She literally ran into a soldier on her way, a fresh-faced fellow who reached out to steady her.

"Are you all right? Did my armor hurt you?"

"No, I am fine." She gave this boy a once-over and was surprised that his gaze didn't dip down to her bare abdomen. "What are you called?"

He straightened and thumped a fist against his chest in salutation. "I am Ulric from the Duchy of Austria. How may I serve you, Lady Tülay?"

"Do not call me 'lady', first of all," she replied. Ulric visibly relaxed, shifting his spear to his other hand. "Secondly, I cannot wait here another day for Isaac to  _violate_  me." She punctuated the word and was thrilled when Ulric cringed at it. "I must get off this island. My parents have not heard from me in..." How long  _had_  she been gone from home? "...a very long time. They are aging, and have no one but me to take care of them." Ulric nodded sympathetically. "Is that not why you joined Isaac's army, to earn money for your family?"

"You don't need to prey upon my conscience, Lady Tülay." Fear lanced through her as Ulric glanced up and down the corridor. He then indicated that she should follow him. They arrived at her chamber and the boy closed the door. She was wary, of course, but he moved to the center of the room and spoke in a muted tone. "Now that I have served under him, I know Isaac is not the kind of lord I can obey. He is godless. If your desire is to escape this place, I will aid you in that endeavor. I will even travel across the sea with you, but you must promise me one thing. You must never tell anyone it was I who helped you. Deserters are often punished with death, and I have too much to live for."

Tülay nodded in agreement. "We are the same in that regard, Ulric of Austria."

* * *

Things were different the next day. Tülay awoke after sunrise and no one came to escort her to the bath, so she was able to cleanse herself in peace. She needed to get Isaac's man-scent out of her skin. She put on a voluminous dress with an extra length of fabric that draped over her shoulder, a garment she heard one of the older local women refer to as a  _stola_ , and meandered through the halls unhindered. Upon reaching the throne room she found it completely vacant. Now would be an exemplary time to escape, but she had the feeling Isaac had left some of his men in charge to keep an eye on her, even if she could not locate them.

Tülay risked venturing into the garden, a green area surrounded by a high wall. Flowers in bloom assailed her sinuses, making her feel light-headed for a moment. The sun shone down from a cloudless sky and a breeze from the sea kept her cool. For a moment she felt a kind of tranquility she had not experienced in a long time. She then sat beneath the pergola and read one of the books left out on a table,  _The History of the Kings of Britain_  by Geoffrey of Monmouth, with some difficulty since there were many English words she didn't know. It was mid-afternoon when she finished and after stretching she heard someone calling her name. Ulric appeared on the steps leading to the garden. "There you are, milady! Are you enjoying it out here?"

"You are certainly polite, Effendi," she said, then nodded. "I am. Days like this remind me of springtime in my homeland."

"You will return there soon enough, I promise."

Her eyes narrowed slightly. "How do I know I can trust you?" She didn't want to get her hopes up even though her initial sense of Ulric was that he was more honorable than the rest of Isaac's men. He was her only chance of returning to Masyaf… to the Brotherhood. She very much wanted to trust him.

"I am a knight, Lady Tülay. I am bound by my word. I said I would get you off this island and I  _will_  make it so, even if it costs my life." The girl was almost affronted by this declaration. She certainly didn't want anyone to die for her!

Tülay retired to her room and fell asleep, dreaming that she had succeeded in her mission by discovering the whereabouts of the weapon Al Mualim sought. He was smiling at her, and Altaïr was too, and she received a real Hidden Blade. She had become an Assassin… and she used everything she learned to strike fear into the hearts of the Crusaders terrorizing her people. When she awoke the castle was alive with activity. Tülay cautiously made her way to the dining hall and scowled at Isaac seated within. However, he was not at the head of the table as usual; rather, a complete stranger commanded the attention of the entire room.

They both stood up and the girl marveled at how much taller the man was than his armored host. His skin was a deep brown hue she only knew of the people far to the south possessing. His head was free of hair and there was an intricate tattoo encircling his left eye. They were the most intriguing feature of all– the right eye was brown but the left was solid gold and glimmered in the firelight. He gazed about with stony features, knowing he was superior to everyone in Isaac's domain. His attire consisted of loose white pants and a gold-embroidered jacket adorned with crescent moon emblems and shimmering blue cabochons. She was so mesmerized by his appearance that she almost missed the conversation taking place. "Where is Soul Edge now?" her captor was asking.

"It is in the possession of someone to the east," the fascinating man answered, "but he is coming this way. He will be here soon."

Isaac's pulse quickened at the news. "Can you sense it? How strong is it? Powerful enough for me to decimate Richard's men?" He sounded like an eager child.

The stranger shook his head. "The sword is still weak. But I know what it searches for. It needs souls to consume, and there are many warriors in these lands."

Tülay's heart leaped into her throat.  _'The sword Al Mualim seeks is coming here?'_   She wanted to charge the meeting to obtain all the answers to her questions, but that would most certainly draw Isaac's suspicion. The last thing she wanted was more of his attention.

"Richard is besieging Arsuf as we speak..." Isaac pondered that fact before his face lit up. "The sword will make its way to the place where Englishmen and Saracens battle!"

"You cannot let it go to him."

"I know…" Isaac thought for a moment. His expression turned even more gleeful. "We can draw it closer to  _us!_  To Beirut, or Jerusalem! It will be in my possession before Richard even realizes what power it contains!" A scheme was forming in the man's mind. Bloodshed would attract the sword, the one so unique as Zasalamel described. Not just a sharp piece of metal, the blade had a will of its own; it could change shape to best fit its wielder and also granted tremendous strength... inhuman abilities, in fact. With it Isaac would become invincible and rule the entire Holy Land. "It must be mine..." he muttered, then glanced at the wise man. "I must recruit an army… Famagusta and the ports to start. Then we shall march inland to claim Jerusalem in the name of none but my own. Saladin's forces will be too late to save the city, and Soul Edge will reveal itself."

Zasalamel slowly lowered his head. "If this is your plan, I will separate the spirit of the sword from its host when the time comes. That will be your only chance to claim it." He narrowed his opaque eye, staring hard at the ambitious warlord. "You must not let Soul Edge take control of your mind. All who have sought the sword in the past have fallen victim to its lust for human souls. You  _must_  focus on your humanity." They exchanged more words but Tülay didn't hear them. Her mind reeled at the thought of completing her mission in a way that far exceeded Al Mualim's expectations. All he had wanted was information about the sword, which was apparently called Soul Edge, but if the Order could disrupt Isaac's actions and procure the sword  _first_ … No one could have imagined that!

Altaïr probably thought she was dead. She had not seen him in so long she didn't even know if he had been in Jerusalem during her abduction. If he was aware of Leharas' treachery why hadn't he come to Cyprus to rescue her? Perhaps it was too pretentious to believe he would do so. No, she was completely on her own… but that wasn't a terrible thing. Now that she had an ally, she could escape Isaac and complete her initial task.

There was too much at risk if she failed.


	12. Ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cok tesekkur ederim: thank you very much  
> Effendi: sir  
> Efendim: master

**Asylum**

The next night Tülay dressed inconspicuously in a dark violet slip and black robe. She felt invigorated due to the fact that Isaac had not touched her all day; he had been in council with the dark-skinned man. Ulric enjoyed playing the hero and managed to recruit a few more men to their cause. When twilight fell and Isaac asked where the girl was, they sent him on a wild goose chase while she made preparations to leave. There were only two things she had left to do.

Out in the garden she paced nervously while waiting for Ulric. The moon was completely full, its light turning her ethereal, and the soldier paused to take in the spectral sight. "Lady Tülay," he whispered upon approach.

"Thank goodness you have come," the girl smiled in relief. "I was beginning to worry."

"You may have reason to," Ulric said. "Lord Isaac is growing tired of searching the fortress for you. If you are going to depart, you need to go to the port  _now_. I have found a ship that will take you to Tyre."

"Do you jest?" Tülay beamed, then hugged the young man. "You selfless deeds will not go unnoticed in Heaven!"

Ulric blushed slightly. "Yes, well, thank you… But there is no time to waste! The ship is leaving at first light."

"How will I know which one it is?"

"It has yellow sails, a curved bow, and flies the Armenian flag."

Tülay nodded. "Thank you, Ulric, but there is something I must do before I leave this place." She glanced around again to ensure they were still alone. "I need to find the soldier who keeps a ring of keys on his belt. I need the key that unlocks the door behind the wolf tapestry in the eastern hall."

Ulric blinked a few times, then gulped as shame flooded his countenance. "So, you've discovered the darkest secret of Limassol..."

"I have my suspicions," the girl said. "Who has the key?"

"Diokles is assigned to keep watch from the western tower at night. You will find him there, likely asleep."

"Çok teşekkür ederim," Tülay said. "I hope to see you on the docks."

Ulric shook his head dejectedly. "Do not waste such hope on me. Isaac has posted a particularly vigilant captain at the barracks, so it will take all of us to prevent him from discovering your escape." He brought one of her hands to his lips and kissed above the knuckle. "Farewell."

Within the fortress once more, Tülay's slippers muted her footsteps as she made her way to the tower where a set of spiral stairs ended at a trap door. She listened intently but did not hear any sounds of activity above, so with a gentle push she climbed up and out. The wind was strong and tried to tangle her clothes and hair, but crouching down prevented that issue. She scanned the parapet, grinning when her eyes landed on a man resting in one corner, completely asleep. A kitchen knife cut the leather strap connecting the keys to Diokles' belt, and she slunk back inside with a victory smile.

The next phase of her task was much more difficult: she had to get to the secret room without running into any soldiers on patrol. This required darting from shadow to shadow and a one-time occurrence of squeezing behind a statue in an alcove. Her greatest fear was that Isaac had somehow been informed of her escape plan and was letting her get away with it until the very last moment, when she would arrive at the Armenian ship and promptly be recaptured. She  _would_  make it into the sea if that were the case. Tülay finally arrived at the wolf tapestry and paused, listening for any sounds travelling along the corridor, but she was alone. She steeled herself while slipping the key into the lock, which released an audible "click", then waited approximately ten seconds before pushing the door open.

She was instantly assaulted by a horrible stench– sweat, blood and body odors blasted her at the threshold. Tülay prevented herself from gagging by covering her nose and mouth with one sleeve, then she stepped into the chamber. In the flicking torchlight she was able to discern the emaciated forms of the virgins Isaac kept imprisoned for his men. Their pale skin made them look even more skeletal. Their hair was long and tangled, and the rags barely covering their bodies were stained with blood and seminal fluid.

It took a lot of effort for Tülay to withhold her tears since she could have ended up here. She  _would_  have ended up in this room hidden away from the rest of the world if not for her quick thinking and a stroke of luck. It was as if the heavens had sent the dark-skinned man to occupy Isaac's time, sparing her further torment. They must have sent Ulric as well because she couldn't have done any of this without him. She knelt beside the nearest girl and brushed the scraggly hair off her face, earning a weak groan of protest. The girl laboriously opened her eyes and stared at Tülay in confusion. "Who are you?" she inquired in a small voice.

"I am called Tülay. I am going to free you from this prison."

She set to work opening the manacles around the girls' wrists and ankles. More of them stirred and began helping one another. "Are you an angel?" Tülay's first rescue asked.  _She_  looked more like an angel– she had blue eyes that pierced the veil of grime covering her face.

"I am one of you, a virgin brought to Isaac."

"How did you escape him?" a tall woman asked in wonderment.

"A few brave soldiers kept his attention off my actions."

The blue-eyed girl, whose name was Miri, nodded sagely. "They are not all barbarians. One tried to help me when I arrived from Jerusalem."

"What happened to him?"

Her eyes dropped to the floor. "Isaac discovered his treachery and had him hanged." She looked up again. "I pray for the safety of those who made our freedom possible."

"How do we know this isn't a trap?" a Grecian girl demanded in coarse Arabic. "How do we know she's not leading us directly to the soldiers as a midnight snack?"

A few others eyed Tülay warily. "You must decide to trust me," she said while unshackling the last girl, who didn't look much older than thirteen. "If you wish to die in this hellhole, then stay where you are. But if you want to return to your families and loved ones, follow me and do not utter a word."

Single-file they crept behind Tülay as she made her way to the kitchen. There was a side door leading to the outside world, and once all of the thirty-five young women were standing beneath the starry sky, Tülay pulled it closed behind her with a resolute thud. She smiled and inhaled deeply, taking in the scents of the world: salt air, sea grass, tar, firewood and charcoal, baking bread, sun-dried linens... She had last smelled these things in Jerusalem, which now seemed a lifetime ago.

* * *

Bare feet padded along cobblestone streets as they passed through the silent city. Tülay recalled the day of the rebellion Isaac and his soldiers quashed. How many families had been torn apart by his slaughtering blade? How many widows grieved for husbands who had taken up arms against his tyranny? How many lives had it cost to placate his blood lust?

The ships came into view. There were only a few of them and two were much larger than the others. Tülay repeated Ulric's description–  _'Yellow sails, Armenian flag, curved bow.'_   None of the vessels were flying a visible flag and they _all_ had curved bows. She faltered for a second, eyes flicking between two quays. Both ships had sails let down to catch the breeze, both had men working on them.

"Which one is for us?" Miri inquired.

"The captain is Armenian," she offered.

"Ankine is from Armenia. Ankine, come here!" At once a petite girl answered her call. "Call out for the captain," Miri suggested.

A raspy voice rang out; Ankine took three tries to make herself clear, but her shout earned the sailors' attention and one man leaned over the railing. They exchanged words, then, "Are you girls from the castle?"

 _"Yes!"_  they shouted as one, and made a mad dash for the ramp. They filed onto the deck, each hugging the captain in turn, until Tülay was the last aboard. The captain, a man with a long mustache and no beard, rubbed his head in amazement.

"There are so many of you. Ulric didn't tell me—"

Tülay snatched up his hands, startling him. "You must take us  _all_  to Tyre!" she pleaded. "We need to get as far from Isaac Comnenus as possible!"

"Calm down, woman!" he chuckled. "Captain Farag at your service! I never leave a damsel in distress!" He turned from Tülay's relieved smile to bark an order at his men. "To the sea you bilge rats! Away from this accursed island!" Away they went, sailing into the dawn. Tülay fell asleep with the rest of the liberated girls on a mattress of straw and burlap, but she found it much more comfortable than the beds provided by Leharas and Isaac.

When she woke up she went on deck to take in the sight of the open sea and clear blue sky. Gulls followed the ship, swooping down to the crow's nest as the lookout there tossed stale bread for them. Tülay was too exhilarated to notice how many crew members stole bashful glances in her direction. Their typical route ran from Cyprus to Alexandria, but the young Austrian soldier had paid well and Tyre was not that far. That being said, the trip would have been unbearable for the crew if they had to keep smelling the girls– their odor was stronger than the combination of tar, fish and man-sweat, so they stripped off their soiled rags and took cold baths in citrus-infused water, filling the ship with a tangy scent. All pieces of scrap fabric were crudely stitched together to provide clean clothing and some of the men even provided the shirts off their backs.

Tülay let her mind wander as the ship rose and fell with the waves. Part of her wondered if she still slept. The whole situation seemed otherworldly, like a dream that would disappear or be replaced by the nightmare of not having left Limassol at all. But as the sun rose on their second day at sea, she finally conceded that its glittering rays were indeed real.

"Where's your home?" Captain Farag asked from the helm.

"Konya..." she wistfully replied. "I feel as if I have seen so much of the world that those sights are replacing my memories."

"One can never forget their homeland," the man stated. "You were born there and it will always be a part of you. It helped shape who you are, so be thankful for that." They fell into a comfortable silence as Tülay leaned against the railing a while longer, wondering if the Assassins would be glad to see her.

 _'I certainly miss Altaïr...'_  she thought.  _'And Telash and Rauf... I should even visit Jemali when I return.'_  At noon the boy in the crow's nest notified everyone that Tyre was within view. All the girls came running onto the deck, throwing their faces into the salty spray that reached above the railing. The Mediterranean gently pushed the ship toward an open berth where longshoremen were waiting. Once the vessel was secure the gangplank was lowered and the young women went ashore, graciously thanking every sailor within reach.

"You are free," Farag beamed at the girl in dark garments, "and they are free because of you. It's a great thing you have done to liberate them. There's a word for people like you... I think it is 'indomitable'."

Tülay laughed, the first time in a long while. "Thank you. We owe our lives to you, your crew, Ulric, and the other knights who dared to defy Isaac."

The man waved her away with his broad hands. "Go live your life now, don't stand around letting this sea-dog badger you!" She laughed again and gave a final farewell to those whose names she did not even know yet had given her the greatest gift imaginable.

* * *

Telash felt out of place among the merchants, mercenaries and sailors bustling around him. They were all focused on their own paths and didn't notice anything or anyone else. He wished he could be like Altaïr and hide beneath a hood, but he supposed his black scholar's robe was inconspicuous enough. He had interviewed a few people to find out if there were any ships arriving from Cyprus today, but no one knew. Most men said that business with the master of the island was difficult due to his erratic orders. However, a little after midday some of the longshoremen exclaimed that a ship from the west was coming into view. Telash sprang from his seat on a bench and tried reaching the berth where the vessel was docking, but there were too many people in the way.

With a frustrated grunt he grabbed a sign post and pulled himself up the side of a building, earning a few bewildered stares. He clung to a window ledge as he gazed out across the throng, gasping when a large group of women disembarked the ship, clamoring loudly. Truthfully he had not expected anything to go according to Altaïr's plan. The Master Assassin had sent Telash to Tyre, another novice to Jaffa, and yet another to Arsuf (which was overrun by King Richard's men and therefore extremely dangerous) to keep watch for his protégé. "Tülay!" he shouted, a hand cupped around his mouth. He received more strange looks but no answer from the girl he sought. He strained to distinguish her russet hair or amber eyes from the female mob, but they all looked the same.  _"Tülay!"_  he tried with more urgency.

"Telash?!" He almost fell off the building when the voice reached his ears. There, he finally saw her– the girl in the purple and black kaftan. Tülay shoved her way through the crowd to reach him. "Telash!" she called again, relief evident in her tone. He landed ungracefully and at once her arms were around his neck. "Thank goodness you are here!" She hugged him tightly, wanting everything he represented to be hers once more.

The boy hesitated, unsure if he should return the tight embrace. An erratic mix of emotions went through him: longing, joy, and alleviation were the few he could name. If Tülay had landed at one of the other ports would she be hugging those brothers as warmly? "You're… you're alive!"

She stepped back to regard him in amusement. "Of course I am."

"I haven't seen you since the day you left, and when Altaïr told us you were taken from Jerusalem..." Telash shook his head in amazement. "That was almost eight weeks ago."

Had it really been over  _two_   _months_  since she left Masyaf? Time had been immeasurable on Cyprus; all the days blurred together.  _'And I managed to fend off Isaac the entire time.'_  She then snickered loudly and unexpectedly. "He has stolen nothing from me, but I have stolen something from him!"

"What is it?" Telash was confused. He assumed the girl would be a little put-off from her ordeal, but this was borderline nonsensical.

She offered him a smug little grin. "I know all about Soul Edge."

* * *

"Soul Edge?" Al Mualim repeated. "So that is the sword's name." He gave the girl another confounded look. "And you say Comnenus divulged this information freely?"

"He was unaware of my presence during the conversation regarding the sword," Tülay explained. Even though she had been through hell, she held her head high. And Al Mualim was rather impressed, too. Although the mission had taken longer than intended the result was the same: she had acquired information regarding the powerful weapon and preparations could now be made to procure it before Isaac Comnenus or the Templars. "He is going to raise an army," Tülay continued. "He is sending recruiters inland, to Dimashq for certain, and Beirut and Qurein."

"How long do we have?"

"That I do not know," she sighed. "He plans to march upon Jerusalem when the sword draws near. It is in the possession of a man from the far east, but he is heading to Acre, where King Richard and Salah al'Din battle. It was also said that..." She faltered, unsure of whether to mention the part about people falling victim to the sword's hunger for souls. Was it even true? She couldn't credit the mystic-man as a fully reliable source of information. Al Mualim waited expectantly, but Tülay shook her head. "Never mind. Isaac will then sail to Jaffa and raze Jerusalem. I have seen the way he looks after he kills... we cannot let him massacre the innocent."

"I do not intend to let anyone die by his hand," the Mentor said. "You may leave, Tülay. Go to Altaïr so he can prepare you for the initiation ceremony. It would be best if you stayed within the confines of the fortress until then. Rest, eat, and remember that you have done our Order a great service."

Tülay smiled shyly, not wanting to let her pride show. "That is reward enough, Efendim." She exited to find Telash loitering outside and frowned a little. "Why do you keep looking at me that way?"

"I'm sorry!" the boy chuckled. "I just cannot believe... It doesn't seem like... Well, I feel like I'm dreaming!"

She grinned back at him. "I feel that way as well, but here I am! Now, I must find Altaïr."

Telash noticed the way she spoke his name and felt jealousy rising in him. At that moment he wanted to tell Tülay that Altaïr had sat within the fortress doing nothing to help her, but that was untrue. Even though Al Mualim had forbade him from leaving Masyaf, the Master Assassin still did everything in his power to find her. "...You should go to him," the novice scholar regrettably agreed. Tülay tossed one last grateful glance over her shoulder before descending the long staircase, leaving the boy alone with his thoughts. They were thoughts of her– of the way her arms felt around his neck, of feeling her body pressed against his own. The way she smelled like sea salt and grapefruit. The way her eyes had regarded him as her savior.

Telash shook his head; he knew he was nothing of the sort. He had just been there to greet her... per the request of Altaïr.  _He_  was the one who should be returning the strength of her embrace. It was he who really needed to welcome her home.

* * *

Altaïr was scribbling furiously at his desk, adding to the chronicle regarding Tülay. Everything he knew, from the first day of leaving her in Leharas' care to the night she was abducted, (by whom he had never found out, for it seemed the group of conspirators was well-protected in Jerusalem), from Telash's comments about Cyprus and Isaac Comnenus to the names of those he had sent to the major ports to look for any sign of the girl, was recorded upon sheets of vellum. He was not expecting a subtle knock on his door. As of late there had been no one but Rauf offering consolation when he opened it, so he remained seated. "Go away, Rauf! I do not need your sympathies!"

"What about my elation?"

When his brain registered that the voice was feminine, Altaïr leaped to his feet and practically hurdled the desk, sending his chair to the floor. If the door was not so solid he would have ripped it off its hinges. Tülay looked amused for the second they both stared at one other, then she found herself being lifted off her feet by his muscular arms. "Altaïr!" she coughed, "I cannot breathe!"

"Sorry..." The Master Assassin relinquished his grip and quickly composed himself, though his pulse quickened again when her arms encircled his waist and she rested her head on his chest. Time seemed to slow to the pace of a tortoise while they just stood together in silence. The silky fabric of Tülay's robe did not resist his hands as they slid down her back.

 _'He is not acting at all like the man I knew in Jerusalem,'_  the girl thought.  _'Where is that abrasiveness, the demand for me to release him?'_   She stared up into his atypically soft countenance.

"What's on your mind?" he prodded.

She spoke calmly and quietly. "I thought I would never see any of this again– the fortress, my brothers, Al Mualim... I feel as though I am still on Cyprus, only dreaming that I am here right now. I  _must_  be dreaming, because I know you would never let me hold you like this for so long." _  
_

A warm feeling coursed through his veins. Altaïr gripped the girl a little more tightly, pulling her just a little closer to his heart. He did not have the gall to admit that ever since leaving Tülay with Leharas, he worried for her. He was still angry at Al Mualim for asking her to embark on such a dangerous quest. If the Assassins had scoured Jerusalem a bit longer, they certainly would have discovered that Majd Addin was trafficking young women to Cyprus. Blinding the traitor scribe had relieved much of his anger but thrusting his sword into the heart of Isaac Comnenus would be immensely more satisfying. Admittedly he wanted revenge for Tülay, but also for all the other daughters Comnenus had defiled.

"You can hold me for however long it takes to convince you that you're safe," Altaïr eventually said. "It was my fault for allowing you to accept that mission when there is still much for you to learn."

Tülay searched his expression before sighing. "You cannot blame yourself, Efendim. I made the choice on my own. I knew the dangers of going to Jerusalem."

"No, you didn't. None of us did. We couldn't know that Leharas would betray us and sell you to his uncle. We had no inclination that Comnenus was prepared to attack Jerusalem if he didn't receive his monthly virginal offering, all in the name of dealing a blow to Richard the Lionheart. Those men are playing chess with human lives and they treat young women like pawns." His arms tightened around the girl as his anger surged, but feeling her steady heartbeat quelled it. Why wasn't  _she_  more upset about all this?

"I do not believe I will live to see the age when women and men are treated equally," Tülay said with a wry smile, "but I would still like to learn everything you can teach me about what it means to truly be free. Teach me how to defend that freedom from those who believe I do not deserve it."

Altaïr simply nodded. "Very well. You will learn how to kill."


	13. Eleven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> La shay'a haqiqah, koulo shay'a moumkin: Arabic maxim of the Order

**Fervor**

Tülay resumed her role in the Order as if she had never left. She rose with the sun and trained with Rauf for hours, learning how to wield larger, heavier swords as well as engaging in target practice with throwing knives. Rauf was more than happy to dedicate a large chunk of time to the girl, invigorated by how wholeheartedly she devoted herself to these tasks. It was all in preparation for the rank she was to be granted in a few days' time, which Altaïr also readied her for. He explained why everyone of Assassin rank or higher was without their ring fingers– it got in the way of the Hidden Blade.

But the missing finger didn't just improve functionality, it united the Assassins by giving them something in common, something they could put their faith in besides the triangular symbol. Enemies lurked all over the world, but if a man saw another with a missing ring finger he knew he could be trusted. Tülay learned this in addition to specific phrases she would need to speak to Al Mualim. Since Arabic was not her native language she tripped over some of the archaic words, but with Altaïr's constant drilling they eventually passed her lips effortlessly.

Still Tülay trained, pushing her body to its limits, increasing her stamina and agility. The day before the ceremony Altaïr secretively watched her spar with Rauf, who she made look like a lumbering oaf by evading his every strike. The grace and focus with which she carried herself reminded Altaïr of her sensual dances, but now she moved to kill, to fell her enemies before they knew what was happening. He went to the arena after they finished and hailed his student. "Efendim," Tülay greeted while dabbing sweat off her face.

Altaïr almost smiled back. "If you keep this up you're going to fall asleep during the ceremony. You need to rest, not only for your initiation but to give your muscles a chance to recover."

"He's right, Tülay," Rauf said. "I've been too willing to indulge you. I don't want you to injure yourself."

The girl nodded in acquiescence. "Very well… I suppose I can give you a chance to catch your breath." Rauf's loud laugh filled the area. To Altaïr she planted a hand on her hip and regarded him smugly. "I am glad to know that you have my physical well-being at heart, but I cannot laze about. There must be  _something_  I can do to keep busy."

The suggestive tone of her voice made a pleasant shiver go down his spine. He found himself captivated by the sweat on her skin, the spark in her eye and the knowledge that her blood was still racing, exactly the way she should look before he made love to her. Altaïr's thoughts tangled as he tried to come up with a plan to get her to his quarters. None of his ideas were cohesive enough to succeed, though. "Go to the market," he said lamely. "Buy yourself… a bottle of perfume."

The girl laughed at the suggestion. "What use would I have for such vanities?" She then winked playfully. "Or are you saying I smell unpleasant?"

Always twisting his words! The Master Assassin growled slightly in frustration. "You smell fine, Tülay. Why do you always assume I think negatively of you?" He heatedly brushed past the girl, heading for the armory room. "Rauf!" he bellowed, and the huskier man instantly appeared.

Tülay frowned at how quickly her master's demeanor seemed to change lately. She swore there had to be two different minds controlling one body– one who was the patient, persistent teacher she admired, and the other man who grew volatile at her playful words.  _'Or perhaps he is just using anger to protect himself,'_  the girl mused, watching as Altaïr took his agitation out on Rauf. Despite how many he carried, Tülay had never seen him wield any of his weapons in combat.  _'It would have been nice to have a variety of arms against Isaac and Talal...'_ She shuddered at the memories of Cyprus and abandoned the training ground, heading for the stairs and taking them two at a time.  _'It is all in the past,'_  she kept telling herself,  _'they are all in the past. I will never see those men again. Not as long as I am here...'_

A sudden truth struck her. The ceremony, which was tomorrow, would grant her a new rank. No longer a novice, Al Mualim could send her out on assignments with Altaïr or other masters. What if he sent her  _back_  to Cyprus to find out when Isaac set sail for the Holy Land? Fear snaked up her spine, making her waver as she reached for the door handle.  _'I could not bear returning that accursed island!'_  She made a beeline for the bed's coarse blankets lest anyone see the tears that began gliding down her face.  _'I want to go home... I miss my family. I do not want to be an Assassin!'_  She tried to stifle a sniffle.  _'I am not like Altaïr... I cannot be a killer. What would Baba think if he knew what I had been through? What if Anne is all alone? What if the Byzantines captured her because I escaped? What if—'_

"Tülay?" The familiar voice interrupted her mental descent. She scrambled out of bed, wiped her cheeks dry, and opened the door to face a concerned Telash. "...Are you crying?" he asked, his previous message forgotten.

"No, no..." The girl shook her head. "Well, I was. But now I am not."

"Why  _were_  you crying?" He shuffled forward to examine her reddened complexion.

Tülay retreated from the threshold, using the shadow of the room to hide herself. "No reason. I am fine, really."

The boy folded his arms, his expression clearly doubting her claim. "I may spend most of my time alone in the library, but I know enough to recognize when someone's emotions have become too much to bear. Can't you just tell me whatever is bothering you?"

Tülay bit her lip before sighing and motioning for her friend to enter. They sat beside each other on the bed. "I do not think I can stay here any longer," was her first admission. "At first I was just curious about the world Altaïr came from, but now that I have lived in it, I do not believe I am strong enough to actually use what I have learned for the reasons required by the Order."

"You want to go home," Telash discerned, "back to the life you knew." His dark eyes met her damp ones and he half-smiled. "You don't really know what you've accomplished here, Tülay, what you've done for the Brotherhood. Our duty is to protect mankind from tyrants like Isaac Comnenus. Man was not created to be dominated by fellow man, he was born to choose his own fate. With the weapon Isaac seeks he would accomplish  _exactly_  what we exist to prevent! And because of  _you_ , Tülay, we know how he'll attempt to obtain it!"

He filled his lungs with new air. "Don't you think that counts for  _something?_  Don't you think you  _matter?_  Don't you understand how important you've become? Not just to us or to Al Mualim, but to all the people of Jerusalem who will be spared from Isaac's crusade! I saw how many women you returned from Cyprus with..." Telash suddenly took up the girl's hands in a strong grip. "I know _you_  saved them from a cruel fate. You  _liberated_  those girls on your own! You think they're just going to forget about you, the one who gave them back their lives?"

He glanced away, embarrassed by his inspirational speech. He had only meant to lift her spirits, not rant about how he revered her! Tülay fell into contemplative silence, her thoughts now wavering between returning to the old life she knew and missed or staying here, becoming a real member of the Brotherhood, pushing herself to transform into the person others needed her to be.

"Tülay..." Telash said quietly, drawing her attention once more. There was something in his expression she recognized– he was looking at her as if reuniting with an old flame, someone he had unspoken feelings for. He wanted to hold her for as long as possible, and to that end his heart overpowered his logical tongue. "I don't want you to leave..." the boy murmured. Her pulse quickened. "Don't you see... how much you mean to  _me_?"

The girl noticed he was leaning toward her but she couldn't move a muscle. His calm grip held her hands fast, but she didn't really want him to let go. His lips were encroaching upon her own... yet Tülay did nothing to stop him.  _'Should I stay? There are so many reasons... Is Telash one of them?'_

He was a dear friend, a boy she viewed as the sibling she didn't have. Clearly his feelings were of the romantic variety, but she couldn't reciprocate. Yet… if Altaïr were sitting beside her, she would gladly welcome his advances. The realization made her feel giddy and guilty at the same time. She desired to be with him, but was it selfish to stay for this reason when she was supposed to return home and eradicate the crusaders? Of course she couldn't do it single-handedly… Would the Order support her goal? The only way to find out would be to learn everything Altaïr had to teach her… which meant she must carry on in Masyaf. The girl's quiet yet powerful voice broke the stillness. "Telash… I cannot provide what you seek."

He released her and pulled back with a disillusioned smile. "I'm sorry, Tülay. I shouldn't have tried... I thought if I kissed you, it might convince you to stay here, with us."

"You already convinced me," the girl said. "You made me realize I have a purpose to fulfill and it would be unfitting to give up now. I do not think I could live with myself knowing I abandoned the very people who have given me the strength to protect those I love." She stood up with a grin, pulling the boy to his feet as well. It hurt him that he would never be the one she ran to first, but because Telash knew and respected the one whom it was, he could let her go. He knew Altaïr cared for her no matter how hard he tried to suppress it. Only a man who had something great to lose would risk falling out of favor with the Mentor.

* * *

Hand still stinging from the application of ink via a long, sharp needle to her right ring finger, Tülay managed to block out the pain in order to recite the words Altaïr had taught her. Drilled into her memory was a more adequate description of his teaching technique, but the outcome was a flawless ceremony that now ended with Al Mualim handing Tülay her very own Hidden Blade and leather bracer with a unique tooled design.

After affixing the new armament Tülay knelt once more. Here Altaïr held his breath, looking on from his position further back behind the dais. "La shay'a haqiqah, koulo shay'a moumkin," the girl dictated. Altaïr exhaled, relieved, and strode forward to meet her as she turned from the Mentor. Tülay tried to prevent a huge smile from splitting her lips but it still tugged at the corner. "So..." she mused, "am I still your apprentice?"

Altaïr shook his head. "You are an Assassin. The first female initiate of our Brotherhood, if Telash's record search is accurate." He lifted her hand, examining the tattoo that would mark her forever. "Also the first to maintain all ten fingers."

"I would not have minded it that much," she shrugged, "I would have stood out less."

The Master Assassin rolled his eyes.  _'Yes,_ _that_ _is what would make you less noticeable... Silly girl.'_

"Al Mualim told me to visit the seamstresses. Apparently they have been working on new garb for me."

"Let us go see it, then." The man led them out of the ornate hall into the warm, open air. Tülay looked down at the figures moving about. They were like a family now, older and younger brothers whom she would not hesitate to defend. Rauf was waiting at the bottom of the steps when the pair descended.

"I am certainly impressed by you, Tülay!" the man gushed. "I must admit I had my doubts when you first arrived here, but you are the most steadfast young woman I will ever meet, this I know to be true!"

She laughed a little. "I look forward to training with you even more, Rauf." They left the man to his own routine. Altaïr could not recall the last time he had been in the tailoring basement but thankfully Tülay knew exactly where she was going. They entered a small chamber occupied by two old women and a wooden screen. Altaïr folded his arms to wait by the door while Tülay stepped behind it and threw her old clothes over the top. "It is so soft! What material is this?" she exclaimed after a moment.

"Egyptian cotton, of course," a seamstress said.

Altaïr tapped his foot anxiously as the number of huffs and whines increased.  _'It must be an elaborate outfit,'_  he reasoned, curious to see the end result. Finally he heard some sounds of approval and the old women smiled their satisfaction. Tülay cautiously stepped out while making a face that clearly showed her uncertainty.

The outfit matched his own in spirit– it featured a white tunic that had been heavily altered to reveal her lithe arms and legs as well an ample amount of cleavage… or perhaps Tülay was overly endowed for the garment. Either way her movements would be completely unrestricted. She peered out from beneath a peaked hood connected to a shawl artfully draped around her shoulders and trimmed with the same black and silver as his tunic. A leather kidney belt encircled her waist and a bright red sash called attention to her hips.

"Now you are a proper assassin, yet you still look provocative," the man commented. He was secretly thrilled.

She shrugged again. "I did not design the outfit this time, but I believe I will get used to it." Altaïr mentally scoffed that she thought her dance attire superior to this practical ensemble.

"Let's go to the armory. You need to choose your weapons." Tülay bid farewell to the seamstresses and they returned above ground where she instantly began receiving open-mouthed stares. The entrance to the armory was made from carved marble in the shape of a hawk's head. Inside were all manner of blades from the region such as straight long swords like Altaïr's weapon of choice, but also shamshirs, scimitars, ataghans, jambiya daggers and two-handed European swords. There were also long-range weapons such as bows, crossbows and javelins, but those required even more training to correctly wield.

Altaïr spent some time scrutinizing short blades like the one he wore over his shoulder. All of them were well-balanced, all had sharpened edges ready for combat. He picked up each knife, picturing it in the girl's hand. It would be responsible for protecting her life so it had to be perfect. "Efendim... I mean, Altaïr..." The girl tittered at her mistake. "Look!" She proffered her right leg to show him the throwing knives in a band encircling her thigh.

"Only five?" Altaïr chided. His fingers finally landed upon a kenshar that felt just right. The thin handle would accommodate a smaller hand, it was evenly balanced, and he knew it was crafted from Damascus steel. "Try this one," he offered.

Tülay gingerly accepted the petite sword. "How do I even hold it?" she asked, furrowing her brow. Altaïr turned it around in her palm, closing her fingers around the handle as the back of the blade aligned with her forearm. "I think two would be more effective."

"Why don't you learn how to use that one before you try dual wielding?"

"Very well," Tülay consented as she slipped the long knife into its sheath behind her back. "Now that I am armed, what do we do?"

The Master Assassin didn't really want to abandon her when the day was so young, but she was no longer his disciple, so they had no need to associate constantly. "Do whatever you want... within the stronghold. There will probably be another mission for you soon so make sure to be here when Al Mualim summons you."

"Then what will  _you_  be doing?" she wanted to know.

Altaïr sighed. "I have to journey to Dimashq. No, you cannot come with me."

Tülay shrugged as if she had much more important things to do. "I was not going to ask to go with you... I am not the same girl who wants to shadow you."

"Is that so?" the man returned. "Being here proves you wrong."

Her retort was a scoff and an eye roll. "Believe what you want, Altaïr. I am following my  _own_  path from now on." Tülay haughtily breezed past him. His eyes narrowed and he tried to ignore the icy tone of her voice, yet the words were so bitter. Was she mad at him? He had done nothing but help her today.

Although she still had to answer to his superior rank, Tülay was no longer under his direct instruction. They were separate beings now, not master and disciple, teacher and pupil. Even if she earned a more respectable position in the Order, most would still doubt her abilities and loyalty. Other men gave sideways glances as she walked by or blatantly glared. Maybe Tülay had noticed and was taking out her frustration on him. She was eager to prove herself, eager to show that she belonged here. Why should gender matter when everyone sought to accomplish the same goals? "Women cannot handle the trials we face," Abbas was saying to a group of men gathered in the dining hall. "They are emotionally weak and unstable. We all know what happens if mercy is shown to an enemy!"

Altaïr folded his arms across his chest and leaned in the corner by the fireplace.  _'What slander does he utter this time?'_

"Al Mualim is bewitched," Abbas went on, "that is why he allowed her to join our fraternity! The first thing you notice about her is a pretty face, and  _then_  what do you see in your mind's eye?" Some of his audience laughed darkly. "You don't think about Tülay watching your back from a rooftop... You think about getting her on her back!"

"I've heard enough of your reviling words!" Altaïr declared as he emerged from his hiding spot. "I have no desire to hear out loud your perverse fantasies involving Tülay. She has much more honor and self-respect than any of you!"

The bearded man's eyes narrowed to slits, glaring at Altaïr from his perch. "Always so quick to defend your harem girl, aren't you?" A contingent of spiteful visages stared him down. "You try so hard to keep that little harlot all to yourself. If she is so honorable, why do you train one eye on her at all times? Are you worried she will stray from  _your_ bed into one of ours?"

"Your jealousy amazes me," Altaïr replied with a scoff. "The only reason you covet Tülay so badly is because you think I've laid claim to her! Unlike you  _fools_  I have upheld my duty as her teacher and kept my emotions in check. If I were a weaker man like  _Abbas_ , perhaps there would be a grain of truth to your petty accusations."

It was silent for a moment while the naysayers internally fumed. "She still doesn't belong here!" someone finally shouted. Abbas simply stood above them all, smirking triumphantly as the voices of his men drowned Altaïr. Hateful words were battering his ears: "whore", "harlot", "bribe of the flesh".

 _"Silence!"_  The command from Al Mualim reverberated off the walls. From beneath his black hood came a disappointed glare. Altaïr looked up proudly; he had nothing to be ashamed of.  _He_  was not the one responsible for inciting the ruckus. "What subject could have all of you bickering like a pack of wild dogs?" the Mentor spat. Begrudgingly, Abbas shuffled forward and Altaïr calmly followed. It would be entertaining to watch the other man wriggle. "What is it you disagree upon?"

The shorter man wore a disdainful expression. "It is the girl, Master– the young woman named Tülay. I do not believe she should have been initiated into our Order."

Al Mualim faced his favored pupil. "What say you?"

"Tülay has proven herself a dedicated member of the Order. She fulfilled the mission bestowed by you and accepted her reward with humility."

"For a simple task of gathering information, it took her over _two months_  to return," Abbas hotly countered. Altaïr knew he would bring that up.

"There was nothing she could have done to prevent herself from being abducted by Isaac Comnenus. Even under immense pressure, Tülay kept her true allegiance a secret and still managed to learn more than we expected. Because of her we know where the weapon sought by the Templars is going to be."

"She is a liability and a distraction!" Abbas returned. "A  _man_  would not have drawn so much attention in Jerusalem! A  _man_  would not have gotten himself into a compromising position!"

By now their faces were shoved closely together as they exchanged dagger-like glares. "You simply cannot see past her gender!" Altaïr said, "And you're jealous that she doesn't even speak to you!"

"That's enough," Al Mualim stated. "I will hear no more arguments regarding Tülay al-Mhámmed. She has proven herself to _me_ and that is all that matters. I know it may seem difficult to allow a sister into your midst, but Altaïr is correct. We all strive to maintain the freedom of mankind. How can we do so when there is turmoil among our ranks? None of you must look upon her as a woman but as one you would trust with your life." The great man sighed deeply. "Now, return to your duties. Punishment shall befall those I hear squabbling like geese again!"

* * *

The girl who had everyone in an uproar was found within the arena, but it was not Rauf against whom her weapon clashed. Altaïr raised a suspicious eyebrow as Telash swung vertically and missed, for Tülay quickly whirled around him and pressed her new kenshar against his throat. "You are dead again," she whispered into his ear.

The boy groaned and stepped out of her grip with his hands up, consenting the victory. "I dare not humiliate myself any longer." With that Rauf took back the loaner weapon as Telash exited dejectedly. Then he noticed the man in white surveying them.

"Ah, Altaïr! Come for a lashing by your own disciple?"

He snorted. "What's  _that_  supposed to mean?"

Rauf grinned slyly. "I mean she was born to fight with a short blade! Men have been sparring with Tülay all day, but her speed overwhelms them! But now that  _you_  are here..." He indicated the vacant octagon; Tülay had her back to them as she reached for a flask of water. "What say you?" Rauf pressed. "The master should have no problem defeating the student."

"All right, all right..." Altaïr gave in, hopping the low barrier. He flexed his fingers, joints popping. It had been a long time since his last fight against friend or foe. Tülay turned around wearing a serious expression.

"I am not holding back for the sake of familiarity," she warned.

"I wouldn't expect you to," the man replied, grinning. He reached over his right shoulder and drew his well-used fighting knife. His muscles were tingling in anticipation; he knew his disciple would not disappoint. Her eyes never left his as she readied her kenshar and spread her feet, assuming a solid fighting stance.

Rauf didn't even have to say anything to initiate the match. Both combatants began circling one another, searching for an opening. They drew closer with each step until the distance between them was but an arm's length. Altaïr decided to move first, a horizontal slice that would have cut open an enemy's neck. Tülay leaned back to avoid it and almost returned the strike, but the man abruptly reversed momentum and stabbed at her.

Tülay's free hand rose to deflect the jab and she countered by jamming the pommel of her dagger into his shoulder. The sharp pain that blossomed informed Altaïr she'd struck a nerve cluster, but had it been deliberate or a fluke? Rauf didn't teach pressure points any more because there had been a few accidental deaths among the novices. "That hurt," the man said. "Where did you learn that?"

"A lady never reveals all her secrets," Tülay answered. "There are still things you do not know about me, Altaïr."

"I know that you should regard your superiors with a bit more respect." At that he launched his offense, a series of quick strikes coming at her from all directions. He didn't allow her a single moment to recover and begin a counter-offense, and after several minutes of blocking his hard attacks the strain was evident in her expression– Tülay's teeth were clenched and sweat appeared on her brow. The truth was that she had never fought someone like Altaïr– he possessed lean muscle and endurance when most of her opponents were weighed down with bulk muscle. That was why she'd been able to best them with her agility, but the Master Assassin was just as fast. And, of course, he was stronger.

He pushed her to the edge of the arena. She backed into the wooden railing and gasped, turning her head for a second, a moment that allowed Altaïr to get inside her defense and press his fighting knife to her throat. Unlike the practice weapons his was sharp; as Tülay jerked sideways a thin red line appeared on her neck and she brought her fingers to it in shock. She glanced between the man and her blood a few times, then narrowed her eyes and sheathed her kenshar. "Are you giving up?" Altaïr asked, smiling smugly in her face.

"Not at all," the girl replied. In one smooth movement she wrapped her legs around his torso, arched her back over the railing, and lifted him up and out of the arena, dumping him in the dirt.

Rauf gave a surprised shout as Altaïr lay there in a daze, blinking at the bright blue sky. He hadn't expected her to pull off a move like that! Altaïr scrambled to his feet and hopped back into the arena. "That wouldn't have worked anywhere else," he said.

Tülay shrugged, tossing her dagger from hand to hand as a taunt. "I believe it was one of my superiors who taught me to utilize my surroundings."

Now the contest was really on. Altaïr didn't know where she had acquired such arrogance, but it made his blood rise. He went after her like a hound on a hare. Tülay fought back this time, easily deflecting his blows and constantly changing his direction of attack. She would duck beneath his arm and pop up at his side. When he tried tripping her up she nimbly skipped away or simply hopped over his leg, and the one time she actually fell she somersaulted and returned to her feet in an instant. Tülay had never fought a Master Assassin, and Altaïr had never fought an acrobat. They appeared to be evenly matched.

A small crowd formed around the arena, but the combatants hardly noticed. They only saw each other, the way their muscles tensed before an attack or retreat. Once again they were circling, searching for discrepancies, and then Altaïr found one. It was glaringly obvious and he chided himself for not taking advantage of it earlier. He stepped forward into her strike zone, allowing her dagger to come with inches of his nose, and caught her by the wrist while sheathing his fighting knife. She changed her grip as she sought to slice his forearm, but his thick leather bracer protected him. Tülay's eyes widened, then she cried out when Altaïr twisted her wrist, forcing her to drop the kenshar.

The Master Assassin didn't stop there. He wrenched her arm behind her back– from this position he could easily pop her shoulder out of its socket. Tülay swung her elbow at his face, but he caught that arm and pinned it as well. She yelled Turkish obscenities as he pushed her forward to the arena's wooden barrier, then transferred her thin wrists to one hand and redrew his knife. Altaïr speared the two ends of her shawl and buried half the length of his short blade into the wood. She could tear herself free, but he had a feeling she wouldn't. "You can't go forward," the man muttered in her ear, "and you can't go back. What can you do?"

"I could break your nose," she hissed.

"Good." He moved a hand to her jaw and could feel the artery in her neck pulsating against his palm. "But what if I held you like this?"

Tülay sighed and rested her head on the man's shoulder, her angry energy spent. "I do not know. You win, Effendi."

"You're giving up this easily?"

Whatever she would have answered was cut off by the arrival of Malik al-Sayf, who lifted an eyebrow. "Am I interrupting something?"

Altaïr realized how they must look to everyone else– him standing behind Tülay, holding her jaw while her lips were angled toward him... He promptly released her and stepped back, allowing the girl to free her shawl from his knife, which she tossed to him. Malik still regarded them skeptically while handing out two scrolls. "What's this? I already have an upcoming task."

"This is your new one," Malik simply said, returning the way he had come.

Tülay was receiving praise from Rauf and her adoring audience, so Altaïr took his scroll and left, heading up to his room. It dawned on him that he hadn't felt any pride at overpowering her; he'd been afraid she would best him, embarrass him in front of everyone watching. He was such a hypocrite. He was the one who kept saying Tülay should be treated equally, but he feared losing to her in a pointless training exercise. He had slashed up her attire just to prove she wasn't better than him.

In truth, she probably was– with the fighting knife, at least. It would have been an entirely different contest if he brought his long sword into play. Tülay mentioned she wanted to duel wield kenshars. If she was that proficient with one, Altaïr feared for the life of any man who tried to stop her when she was armed with two! Stifling further thoughts of the girl, he untied the scroll and held it down with a carnelian paperweight.

_As one of the most skilled members of our Order, I believe the time has come to evaluate your leadership skills._  
_You know that Isaac Comnenus hopes to summon Soul Edge by spilling blood in Jerusalem, simultaneously proving his superiority to Richard the Lionheart. He has sent out recruiters to rally more men to his cause, focusing on the major cities. I do not need to remind you what will happen if Soul Edge falls into the hands of such a vile, power-hungry man like him._  
_Your duty is to locate the recruiter in Dimashq and kill him. You must also find out if he persuaded anyone into joining Isaac's crusade and stop them as well._  
_Although Dimashq is vast, I believe you, along with Malik and Tülay, will prevent anyone from leaving that city to march upon Jerusalem._

Altaïr stared at the parchment incredulously. Malik he could deal with... but had Tülay even recovered from her ordeal? Was it too soon to thrust her back into dealings with Isaac's men? They were rapists and murderers, and who knew what cruelties she had suffered at their hands? She never talked about it with anybody, not even Telash. No one knew what she had experienced on Cyprus, just that she'd survived and returned to Masyaf ready to commit sanctioned murder. _  
_

Maybe Tülay had been preparing for this. That had to be why she spent more time than anyone else training with Rauf, so she would have the ability to kill any of Isaac's men... or even Isaac himself. Revenge was a very powerful emotion, one that had fueled Altaïr after Adha's death. Al Mualim taught him to keep it in check; he would have gone on a bloody rampage if not for the Mentor. If revenge was brewing within Tülay then it was Altaïr's duty to help her. She was  _his_  protégé, after all. An emotionally compromised person with intimate knowledge of murder was a danger to everyone, even others who devoted their lives to it.


	14. Twelve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Souk: free-trade market  
> Madrasah: secular or religious education facility

**Paradigm**

Tülay reread the papyrus scroll and sighed.  _'This is my first mission as a real Assassin... I hope not to disappoint Malik or Altaïr.'_  She had only known the former by name until that day, and her first impression of the man was that he was rather apathetic. Malik didn't seem to care what went on around him, simply accepting what life dealt him without question. That attitude likely made him an ideal Assassin because he didn't question his orders, which Tülay did now. Her duty was to kill Isaac's recruiter in Damascus, but who was that man going to be? What if he was young and mostly innocent, working for Isaac to earn money for his family? But what if he was ruthless, greedy, and didn't care that he put his countrymen to the blade? In that case, of course, he had to die.

But what gave Al Mualim the right to pass such judgment? How did he have the power to decide who lived and died? And, perhaps more important, what made every man in the Order _obey_  him?

Tülay knew she was here because of Altaïr– it would not damage her pride to admit that. He had been a beacon of strength and honor in the harem, but now she knew why she had left her home, her family and everything else behind to follow him: Altaïr represented the freedom she didn't have. The Assassins believed freedom and free-will were mankind's birthright, but given the treatment she'd received from some of them, it was clear not everyone believed that right extended to women. This, she knew, was probably the fault of religion. Islam and Christianity taught that women were the inferior gender for a variety of reasons, but the reasons were all based on stories in books penned by men!

Who came up with the ideals of the Creed, though? Was it a man or a woman, or some being beyond gender identity? Tülay shook her head and rolled up the scroll, placing it in her desk. There would be plenty of time in the future for philosophizing; right now she had to steel herself for the task of hunting down those who would slaughter the innocent in the name of a madman. She was accepting this task of her own free-will. She had spent over half a year training to become an Assassin, and she wasn't doing it to prove her loyalty to Al Mualim. Killing one immoral person to save thousands of innocents was simply the humane thing to do.

* * *

Malik was the first to wake, rising with the sun to prepare for the mission in Damascus. He had outfitted the horses by the time Tülay arrived at the stables. At first glance he looked exactly like Altaïr, but then she noticed he wore a grey robe, a single pauldron and different weaponry. "Good morning," she politely greeted. The man acknowledged her with a nod.

"Make sure you have all you might need– money, personal items, that sort of thing," Malik said. "We might not return for some time. Rouse Altaïr when you're done."

After double-checking her bags and handing them to Malik, she went upstairs to Altaïr's room. The sun had finally cleared the mountains, turning the stronghold into a palace of gold. Tülay blocked the harsh rays with one arm as she knocked on the man's door. "Time to rise and shine!" her singsong voice called out.

It opened a moment later, the Master Assassin ducking his head to shield his eyes. "Is everything ready?"

"I believe so!" She was actually excited to be going to Damascus, the largest metropolis in the Levant. Altaïr locked his door and followed Tülay to the stables. Fully armed, he presented a rather imposing figure. A large part of it was due to the long sword at his side, its hawk-shaped pommel gleaming fiercely.

As each Assassin made final adjustments to their riding gear, Al Mualim glided down from his tower to see them off. "Protect each other well," he stated. "Jerusalem is depending on your success."

"We will not fail," Altaïr said confidently. He spurred his horse into a gallop as Al Mualim held up a hand in farewell. The trio rode in silence, speaking neither to each other nor anyone else on the road they traveled. The sun continued to rise higher and higher and the number of people increased the farther south they went. Since the horses were well-rested and eager to stretch their legs, they moved at an impressive pace. It was late afternoon when Altaïr decided to stop to water them.

No one took notice of the white-robed figures as they waited in line. "How long is the journey?" Tülay asked after their horses finished gulping down fresh water from a trough. Malik drew up his own bucket and dumped it over himself, sending droplets flying when he vigorously shook his head.

"Four days, usually," Altaïr answered, frowning at his comrade, "but our horses seem eager to get us there."

He was right: after two days of fast travel they arrived on the cliffs overlooking the great city. There was a constant stream of people traversing the winding path through the hills, so the Assassins walked their horses single-file lest they run into anyone and cause a disturbance. Tülay got to take in much of the city thanks to their slow pace. She formed a slight map in her head, memorizing the high points of the skyline, and wondered if her companions had already explored the metropolis in its entirety. How many times had they been here? How many missions had they completed? Had anyone else ever met their end in Damascus at the hand of an Assassin?

The rafiq greeted them warmly, abandoning a piece of pottery as the three gathered around to hear what he had to say. "Javaid Najafi is the man you are looking for. I'm sure he seeks those desperate for wealth, so it would be wise to scour areas frequented by laborers and farmers."

Malik nodded resolutely. "Very well. I shall go to the Al-Silaah souk at once."

Altaïr cocked an eyebrow at the man's decisive attitude. "Or you can go to the Sarouja souk, since you know the area well, and  _I_  will visit Al-Silaah. Tülay will remain in this quarter.

"As you wish," Malik said with a curt nod, earning a glare from Altaïr. Tülay decided not to comment on the battle for superiority they were having.

She drifted among the masses, listening for any mention of Javaid's activities. His surname seemed familiar but she couldn't recall why she recognized it. Nothing useful came out of the mindless babble surrounding her, so she made her way to the nearest plaza to take a breath and consider a new course of action. But this area was hardly conducive to gathering her thoughts. A man in front of the madrasah proclaimed that Salah al'Din was a menace to Damascus and the people should ally with the English, French and Byzantines he fought in the south. Tülay debated telling him how foolish he sounded.

She retreated into an alley as a trio of scholars accosted the slanderer, drawing attention from passersby. She overheard their argument: they had come all the way from Cairo to study the historical texts Salah al'Din had preserved, so how dare this man say the city would be better off in the hands of the kings of Europe, who would destroy such precious knowledge without remorse.

Like Jerusalem, Damascus was suffering from internal conflict. Without the sultan around to govern his people they were slowly turning on one another when they should be unified against the Crusaders. This city, then, was no longer the paradise her father had known. Tülay slumped against a cool stone wall. Of  _course_  it had changed... of course it was different from how her father remembered it. He grew up here during a time when there was no war.

Tülay doubted she would be able to learn anything about Javaid; there was too much chatter from too many people. While making her way back to the bureau she avoided crowds, taking alleys and side streets instead, even climbing up to the rooftops to get away from them altogether. Damascus was just so  _loud_. How could anyone hear themselves think over merchants shouting about their new products, hagglers shouting for better prices, mothers shouting at children, soldiers shouting at—

"Come to Cyprus, where riches await!"

She halted and looked down at the street, spying a man with a small crowd gathered around him. "By pledging your loyalty to Lord Isaac of Cyprus, you will earn wealth beyond imagine! Join us on our campaign to quell a growing army of betrayers!" Murmuring broke out at that, and the herald –she didn't think it was Javaid himself– donned a more serious tone. "Yes my friends, it is true that the people of Jerusalem have joined the Crusaders and seek to attack us while Salah al'Din battles to preserve our way of life!"

 _'What nonsense...'_  Tülay thought. The fact that so many people believed the herald's lies was astounding. They swarmed him, asking where they could sign up to join the Cypriot army.

"To celebrate the new alliance between Salah al'Din and Lord Isaac..." Tülay was certain she saw the man sneer at his audience's gullibility. "...we will convene in the citadel's southern courtyard tonight. All who wish to defend Dimashq must go there!"

Tülay climbed down the opposite side of the building and plunged into the masses with renewed haste. What she had just learned replaced her mental map of the city, however, so she soon ended up lost and disoriented. All the thoroughfares looked the same; she couldn't remember which one led to Al-Silaah souk, where Altaïr was. Men were leering at her breasts and exposed legs, assuming she couldn't tell which of them were reaching out to grope her as they drew close…

She whirled around and caught a hand just before it landed on her shoulder. Altaïr's eyes widened slightly, then his brow furrowed in concern. Tülay released him and sighed, noticing that people now gave them a wide berth. They respected  _him_  so they gave him plenty of space. "What are you doing here?" Altaïr asked.

"I know where Javaid will be tonight," the girl answered. She was mindful to keep her voice low. "The south side of the citadel."

"Are you certain? That's a rather audacious meeting place."

"I am certain. He is spreading lies through this city, claiming that Jerusalem has allied with the Crusaders and is going to invade here. People are joining Isaac's army under the assumption that they will be launching a preemptive strike."

He silently absorbed this news, already forming a plan. First they needed to find Malik. The pair of Assassins made the relatively short trip to Sarouja souk, the largest marketplace in Damascus. Tülay's unease turned to wonderment as they entered the enormous building, which was four times as long as it was high. Clothing, food, furniture, artwork... Anything one could think of could be found within Sarouja, Malik hopefully among it.

Altaïr spied him first. Malik was pretending to examine saffron while listening in on more gossip regarding the sultan. Two women traded theories about why construction of the citadel's outer wall had yet to be completed: one said there weren't enough able-bodied men to work on it because they had all joined the army, and the other said the carpenters were unmotivated because Salah al'Din wasn't even around to utilize his palace. The Master Assassin shared a look with Tülay– the abandoned construction zone provided the perfect entrance to the grounds.

* * *

The trio regrouped at the bureau to share their plan with the rafiq, who contributed some information he had gathered from his own reconnaissance. "You can easily avoid most of the guards if you climb the scaffolding along the western wall."

"Then that will be our access point," Altaïr declared. "If we follow it to the southern courtyard we can minimize guard casualties."

Malik frowned. "Or we can avoid them altogether if we just stay atop the wall." Tülay nodded in agreement. She didn't want to kill any more people than was necessary.

Altaïr grunted, which was as good an affirmation as any. "Do we know what Javaid looks like?"

"I have heard he wears a red sash with a dagger in the front." The rafiq then eyed each of their waists.

"Well, it sounds as if we'll blend right in." Malik smiled wryly, then went to a shelf of books, selected one at random and settled onto a pile of dusty pillows. Ignoring the looks from his comrades, he said, "I hope you two can keep yourselves entertained for the next four hours."

"What is in four hours?" Tülay asked.

"Dusk," the Master Assassin answered. "You said the meeting was tonight, yes? I am going to get supplies for the journey home." He ascended the ladder and stood on the roof for a minute, debating which market to visit, then Tülay appeared behind him.

"May I accompany you?"

The man smiled. "You may. Did you see any bakeries while you were wandering around?" She nodded, so he held out a hand for her to lead the way. Altaïr tried to keep his eyes glued to the back of her hood as she slipped between people as easily as a spirit, but he soon noticed that she walked with her hips, aiming her bones where she wanted her feet to go. He didn't know if it was due to her Assassin training or her dancing lifestyle, but she never rested all her weight on one foot. She remained centered, balanced, perceiving the motion of the crowd and gliding through it without touching anyone. The young couple talking in front of them probably didn't even know she was there.

After purchasing several small loaves of bread for the trip back to Masyaf, the Assassin duo browsed the rest of the market and procured a few kebabs for themselves. They then wound up outside the Sinan Pasha mosque and sat down to listen in on the myriad conversations between scholars; the area was famous for its variety of madrasahs. Tülay stopped chewing as a debate about Mary in the Bible and Miriam in the Quran reached her ears, but then one of the scholars said something derogatory about the true role of women in holy texts and she bristled.

"I could give them a scare, if you want," Altaïr offered.

He earned a slight smile. "That is not needed. One day I will go where such attitudes are unpopular… It will be far from here."

"Were you expecting Dimashq to be as your father portrayed it?"

Tülay widened her eyes at him, shocked that he had read her mind. "Yes, I was… But it was naïve of me to believe it remained unchanged all these years. Salah al'Din was not the sultan when my father was a boy."

Altaïr slowly chewed his piece of grilled lamb, considering how to best word what he was thinking. "It almost seems like a different girl returned from Cyprus." Tülay shot him a pointed look and he held up his hands defensively. "I understand why you devoted so much time to training with Rauf… at least, I  _think_  I understand. But you also seem much more contemplative." He suddenly glanced away as color flooded his cheeks. "I want you to know that you can speak to me about anything."

"I know that, Ef… Altaïr." Even after all this time she found it difficult not to call him "master". "I had much to think about while I was on Cyprus. I will tell you about it, but I would like to go somewhere quieter."

Altaïr hopped to his feet– he knew just the place. A short walk brought them to the Formal Gardens, a lush expanse of green in the middle of the city. The grass, trees and flowers were watered by a complex system of aqueducts, but they also fed ponds and fountains. There was an arbor of apricot trees tucked away in a corner complete with a gazebo, and it was into this shady spot the man led Tülay. He sat on one of the stone benches while she paced.

Tülay knotted her fingers as she tried to make herself succinct. "While I was on the ship to Cyprus a member of the crew said he admired the politics of my people. He said that Seljuq women enjoy more freedoms than the Sunni women in Salah al'Din's empire. It was very ironic that he would say that to me while I was being treated like a slave. He made it sound like I should be grateful for those freedoms, but clearly they had been taken from me!

"It is true that the Seljuq sultans have been quite… generous to the people they conquer. They freely borrow ancient Persian ideals and instill them elsewhere in the sultanate. They do not force the Christians and Jews to convert to Islam. We are a nation of many people, of many faiths. My parents are Muslim, but the version of Islam I have seen here is much different than in my homeland. It is very oppressive to women and I do not understand why. Why must we be treated like… like  _cattle_  to be bought and sold and traded? Why do we have no say in whom we marry? Why are we not allowed to be educated? Why is it sinful to expose our skin to the sun?" Tülay's palm fell upon her bare leg as she gave the man a hard look. He opened his mouth to respond, but she had one more thing to say. "Why have there been no female Assassins until me?"

 _'I don't know,'_  he thought, but she would be very unsatisfied with that answer. She would probably still be disappointed by what he said now. "I don't believe any have asked to join the Order."

"But  _I_  did not ask, Altaïr!  _You_  asked Al Mualim if you could train me! I find it very difficult to believe that you are the first member in the Order's recorded history to take on a female novice!"

The man straightened, keeping his tone even. "There's the key phrase– recorded history. It could be that when the Order became patriarchal, all records regarding female initiates were destroyed."

Tülay buried her face in her hands and muttered something unintelligible. She then sat beside him and wrapped her fingers around his. "Do not let them do that to me, Altaïr," she nearly whispered. "I cannot be the only one. Others must know that there is a way to save themselves from the fate religion decrees for us. Religion… which is just words in a book written by  _men_."

It certainly sounded to Altaïr that Tülay had just renounced her faith. He didn't know if he could do the same– he was a man, the gender Allah favored. "What will your parents say?" he asked.

Tülay shook her head. "It will not matter. Once I am ready, I will go to Persia and lay the foundation of a new Order. I will accept all brothers  _and_  sisters who wish to make a difference in the world." She smiled at his stunned countenance before rising to her feet. "First, however, I have a task to complete."

* * *

They climbed the scaffolding with as much agility as cats and perched atop the wall like a trio of hawks. Soldiers patrolled the grounds to deter thieves from ransacking the sultan's grand home. No one really knew if it contained valuable treasures or not, but the prize the Assassins were after was on the outside, anyway. They crept along the wall, following it around to the south side. The courtyard was lined with thick hedges and featured many decorative topiaries as well as a huge fountain in the center. There was a group of about ten men standing near it, but their number was not the problem.

"Damn…" Altaïr muttered. "We can't get in there without being seen."

"Nonsense, we'll just use her." Tülay frowned at Malik's pointing finger. "She can distract them while we sneak up behind them."

She raised an eyebrow. "Very well, but how am I to approach without seeming like I appeared from the air?"

He didn't have an answer for that, but after studying their surroundings the Master Assassin devised a scheme. "If you can get to the awning above the doors, you can drop down and exit the shadows. They will believe you are a harem girl out for a night stroll."

"Does Salah al'Din even have a harem?" the other man wondered. "It would be cruel to keep beautiful girls locked up when he has no use for them. Oh, but I suppose the guards have access to the palace…"

Altaïr could sense rather than see the glare Tülay was giving Malik. "I will do as you suggested," she said, and took off without another word… or finishing the plan. She moved quickly, rounding the corner to the citadel's eastern side. The men in the courtyard couldn't see her, but from their perch the Assassins witnessed Tülay stand up, break into a run and leap toward the building. After a few tense minutes she appeared on the roof, pausing to look down at the awning. It was flush with the trim around the door, so she very carefully slid down one side, landing softly in the grass before darting into the awning's shadow.

"Maybe this wasn't a good idea," Malik said.

"It will work," Altaïr returned. "We just need to clear these hedges once Tülay draws their attention."

"Ah yes, I make twenty-foot leaps every day. Simple."

"How do you figure that number?"

"We're ten feet up and we need to jump at least five feet outward," Malik said, giving his superior a sideways glance. "You would be wise to learn geometry."

"Knowing how to measure shapes won't help me end the lives of these men." Altaïr moved his toe to the edge of the wall, rising a little as he prepared to enter the courtyard and dash forward before Tülay got hurt. She could have at least waited until they had decided on a signal…

The girl removed her weapons and hid them behind a pillar, then took off her belt and adjusted her sash and shawl, emulating the fashion of a Raj woman she once saw in a book. With her Hidden Blade obscured by fabric, she messed up her hair a little, pinched her cheeks and strode into the open, gazing upon the men with half-lidded eyes. "Oh my!" she exclaimed, quickly earning their attention. "I did not expect to meet anyone during my midnight stroll!"

"Who are you?" someone demanded.

"Zara," she answered airily, stopping at the edge of the patio. She put a finger to her lips. "Who are  _you?_ "

"None of your business," Javaid said. He was indeed wearing a red sash with a dagger tucked into it. He also had a very full beard and dark, piercing eyes. Tülay suddenly realized where she knew his name from: Najafi had been Heydar's surname. Was Javaid a nephew, a cousin, his brother? It didn't matter. He made a mistake by supporting Isaac's insanity, which he would pay for with his life.

"Perhaps I can make it my business." Tülay saw the men exchange glances, then a few of them came forward wearing lecherous grins. "Perhaps we should go inside to continue this meeting, where you will be more comfortable." That did it. She now had them all standing before her like dogs awaiting a treat. She smiled a little as Altaïr and Malik jumped off the wall, darting behind the topiaries for cover.

Tülay went to the youngest-looking man and brushed his cheek, making it a point to touch them all a different way. She could make them feel special, give them personalized attention, turn each of them into a sultan for the night. Tülay was an actress fit for a Roman theater. She pushed Javaid up against one of the posts and slowly went to her knees, or so it appeared. In reality she grabbed both of her kenshars, hiding them beneath the flowing fabric of her shawl, and stood back up, which made the man groan in frustration. She smiled, then released her Hidden Blade into his heart.

Everyone exploded into action. One of Javaid's colleagues moved to attack the girl, but he soon found himself impaled on Altaïr's sword. Malik hurled two throwing knives and struck someone in the neck and chest, where he gurgled and fell. Altaïr sliced another man open before a saber could be drawn on him. Tülay spun and slashed the youngest man's throat, who went down with wide, unbelieving eyes. Half the conspirators had been killed within seconds and the other half died just as quickly. The last remaining man attempted to run away, but Malik chased him down and jammed his Hidden Blade into the back of his neck. He wiped the metal on the man's robe, stood, and looked around. "What a bloody mess."

Altaïr checked to ensure none of them were still breathing, then he and Malik positioned the bodies so they lay on their backs. They closed any frozen-open eyes and told them to rest in peace, but Tülay hoped their spirits would be burdened with guilt forever. She too wiped their life force from her blades before sheathing them. "That almost seemed too simple," she remarked. "They fell so easily."

"We caught them by surprise," Altaïr said. "It would have been a challenge if they were expecting us. Most of them were armed." He and Malik climbed up to the roof so they could take their leave, but after jumping onto the wall the Master Assassin noticed Tülay wasn't with them. She remained on the ground, staring at the ten corpses in a line. When Altaïr spoke her name she turned toward him, but in the darkness he could only discern the shape of her lips, which were just barely curved in one corner. A smirk for Isaac Comnenus.

* * *

The rafiq congratulated their success and wrote a short letter to Al Mualim that would be sent out in the morning via pigeon. "Where do we stay tonight?" Tülay wondered. The bureau was sparsely furnished and there was only one room besides.

"My novice is waiting for you just outside the northern gates. You will find a tent with accommodations."

The trio thanked him and exited Damascus. A young boy, perhaps twelve or so, wearing a scholar's robe showed them to the large tent. The main room had a hole in the roof so smoke from a fire pit could escape. Quail and chicken were being roasted over it, and there were accompanying dishes to choose from as well as a selection of wine. "This couldn't have been Al Mualim's idea," Malik said while grabbing a bottle and plunking down on a large cushion.

"This tent belongs to a wealthy traveling merchant," the boy explained. "My master paid him well to borrow it for the night."

"I knew there was a reason I liked this city." Malik grinned and took a long swig straight from the bottle. Altaïr opened another one and filled two cups, handing one to Tülay. She accepted but didn't sit down with them, tending the food instead. The boy, Ikram, was thrilled to assist her, fetching whatever herbs and spices she asked for after sampling each dish. She drizzled some olive oil over the birds on the spit and made the fire hiss, but the last-minute addition coated them with a nice crispy layer.

Altaïr found the whole situation a bit odd. He thought Tülay would have some regrets about killing Javaid, but she acted as if this hadn't been her first time in the field, her first murder on behalf of the Order. She laughed at Malik's increasingly lewd jokes and let Ikram follow her around like a puppy, rewarding him with the occasional pat on his head or shoulder. She didn't react humbly when Malik praised her culinary abilities, which Ikram parroted despite the fact that his own mother had prepared their meal. Altaïr dared say –not aloud, of course– the girl had been claimed by arrogance.

"Why the long face, Altaïr?" She suddenly appeared at his side, cheeks flushed and lips red from the wine.

"Horse face," Malik muttered, though not quietly enough.

Tülay glared at him. "Altaïr is most certainly  _not_  horse-faced!" She then put a hand on it and ran her thumb across his cheek, brushing the corner of his mouth with her fingernail. "He is  _handsome_ , even with that scar. Will you not smile for me, Altaïr?"

He would have been thrilled if it weren't the wine speaking. Since it was, the Master Assassin pulled away from her warm palm and did not smile. The girl pouted, then moved her cushion so they formed a triangle around the fire. Malik stopped drinking to enjoy his buzz but kept filling up Tülay's cup, sending her into fits of musical laughter by regaling her with stories from his youth. When he ran out of those he told ones he remembered about Altaïr, which the man did join in on. Eventually Tülay's eyelids grew too heavy and her chin dropped to her chest. She sat cross-legged on the pillow with the wine glass in her lap and her other hand on her knee, giving her the appearance of some meditative statue.

Altaïr carried her into one of the rooms, covering her with a mohair blanket. He returned to find Malik staring intently at the dying flames. "Do you think she only accepted this mission to strike back at Comnenus?" he inquired.

"Does it matter? She did her duty regardless."

"If she's plotting some revenge against that man, you can't let her go through with it. She could endanger all of us."

"I know…" Altaïr said quietly.

Malik stood up, stretched, and narrowed his eyes. "I don't think you understand what I'm saying, Altaïr. Tülay hasn't felt safe since returning from Cyprus. She believes Comnenus could find her and drag her back there, where she will suffer whatever atrocities she already endured at his hands once more. The only way for her to fully recover from her ordeal is to ensure Isaac can never hurt her again. She must kill him."

The Master Assassin shrugged. "Then we let her. He deserves death."

"It's not that simple!" Malik groaned. "Remember how you acted when Adha died? You went rogue, and the only way we found you was by following your trail of bloodshed. You killed everyone connected to her death." Altaïr's lips were pressed in a thin line, clearly perturbed, but Malik continued. "Tülay has made it clear she is at war with the aspects of society that allowed her to be bought by Majd Addin and sent to Comnenus as a present. She is at war with  _us_ , with men."

Altaïr started to say that wasn't true, but it would have been an obvious lie. He'd heard Tülay express herself on the subject of patriarchy many times. He agreed with her, to be honest– it wasn't fair that women were treated as less than human. She said she wanted to establish a branch of the Assassin Order in Persia, but what if it turned out to be comprised of only women? What if Tülay only taught them how to kill any man who wronged them? During his entire life spent with the Brotherhood, he had never heard of Al Mualim issuing orders to have a woman assassinated. Did that mean women were inherently less evil than men, or that their machinations were so well thought-out they went unnoticed?

"Do you want me to tell her not to kill Comnenus so he can live with the guilt of his wrong-doings, as if that is punishment enough?"

Malik shook his head and sighed. "I would like you to tell her that we do not all think the same as Isaac, the Addins or even Abbas. She'll listen to you… She trusts you."

Altaïr divined the veiled request among his words: Malik wanted him to admit his true feelings for Tülay. He had to say he would be willing to commit a taboo for her, that he would disregard everything he had been taught to be with her. If he embraced his emotions instead of being shamed by them, wouldn't it prove that he was joining her fight, that he would support her New Order? They could empower women and teach men that emotions did not lessen them.

How could one protect those dear to them when they were taught that love was their greatest weakness?


	15. Thirteen

**Resolve**

Tülay was home. She woke up in her own bed to the smell of rabbit stew, her mother's specialty, and drifted downstairs after putting on her favorite red kaftan with gold trim. Ayla tended the dishes from their shared meal of soup and date bread. "There's someone out back for you," she said, so Tülay went through an arch to the small fenced garden where they grew their own herbs.

Ulric looked up with a smile and she hugged him, incredulous. "What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to see you again. I just had to know if you found freedom. I'm glad you did."

"Only because you defied Isaac to help me." The boy grinned at that and Tülay brought him into the kitchen so he could have something to eat as well. As soon as she entered the dining area, she faltered. Her mother was dead on the floor. "Ah... Anne?" her voice trembled as she knelt beside the wide-eyed woman. A glint from above caught her attention. She looked up in time to watch Ulric become skewered by a spear, his chest exploding with bright red blood. His life force speckled her arms as she stared in disbelief. Then her eyes traced the spear to a hand –a gauntleted hand attached to an arm covered in blackened chain mail– to a pauldron, a gorget, and a half helm from beneath which Isaac Comnenus sneered down at her.

"You were mine and mine alone…" the man said while his fingers closed around her neck. He lifted her easily and threw her into the adjoining room where she landed on a divan. Isaac approached slowly, his armor falling off with each step until he was nude, his intentions obvious. "Many people had to die so I could find you, Tülay."

Her wrists were held fast by one of his enormous hands and with the other he brandished a dagger. She struggled and clawed at his iron-like grip, tried to draw her knees up so she could kick him, twisted and writhed in an attempt to knock him off balance... but her efforts were futile. His deep laugh enveloped her desperate cries as he slashed her kaftan to ribbons, ravaging her last line of defense. "You belong to me... No other man has a right to claim you– not that foolish soldier, not your scholarly friend, and certainly not that  _assassin_ …"

"Altaïr?" Tülay gasped. "What did you do to him?!"

He offered her a smirk. "Let's just say… he went somewhere you cannot follow. But you're too good a woman to end up with him in death, anyway."

"NOOO!" she wailed, violently contorting in an effort to escape Isaac's offensive shaft. "Altaïr, please! Help me!" A new scream of agony escaped her lips as she felt herself being stabbed. _"ALTAÏR!"_

* * *

She screamed his name at the top of her lungs. Altaïr awoke in an instant, his heart nearly escaping his chest. He gathered her into his arms as she sobbed hysterically and shuddered violently. "Tülay, you're with me. You're safe, everything is all right…" He murmured reassuring words over and over again until she relaxed a little, tentatively putting her arms around his neck. Her tear-stained cheeks were hot against his bare chest.

"Altaïr…" Tülay whispered his name and tightened her embrace. "You are alive."

He almost smirked. "I should hope so."

"But Isaac killed you… Suphanallah, it was only a dream." She put a hand on her head and groaned. "No, it was a  _nightmare_. He told me he killed you, my mother, the soldier who helped me escape his castle, and countless others…" The terrible visions were fading away. Where was she? Damascus, that's right… She had killed the very men Isaac hoped to use against the innocents of Jerusalem. And then what happened? A throbbing headache reminded her, as did Altaïr.

"You had a lot to drink," he said. "I wonder if the wine altered your memories of being on Cyprus."

"But what if I'm still dreaming, and..." Her head swam with disconcerting thoughts, like the possibility that Isaac's spear would come through the tent and pierce Altaïr's chest. The image made her whimper.

"You're not asleep, Tülay," the Master Assassin said quietly, "I'll prove it." He leaned forward. The pressure of his lips on her own registered and she pulled away. "Now do you feel awake?"

"Yes… but you just kissed me." She sounded confused, not the reaction he had hoped for.

"At least you know you're not dreaming." He huddled back into the blanket and turned away from her, exuding a resigned sigh. Altaïr willed himself to ignore the fact that they were in a fairly intimate setting. He tried not to think about her back pressing against him in order to stay warm throughout the cold desert night. He tried to put these things out of his mind yet failed miserably.

"I might be," the girl whispered. "The first person I wished to see upon arriving in Tyre was not Telash… I wanted it to be you. I wanted you to be the one who reassured me I was home, that  _I_  was in control of my life again, not Isaac Comnenus."

Lingering guilt made his words a bit harsh. "Is that all you wanted from me, what you still want from me? Reassurance?"

A hand crept over his shoulder and pulled him onto his back. Tülay was propped up on her elbow; some stands of her hair tickled his arm. "You made the choice to free me from that harem, Altaïr. During my time with you I have seen you continue to make similar choices, and for that I respect you. You have never objectified me. What I want is to become someone  _you_  can respect."

Altaïr pondered the meaning of the word. There were no members of the Order he respected save Al Mualim, who he had complete faith in. He trusted the Mentor like Tülay trusted him. He knew he would never be led astray and that his actions always benefited the greater good. Despite his stance that the girl belonged with the Order and should be treated like any other member, he still saw her as a woman. He  _did_ respect her abilities as an Assassin, given her unique abilities, but he still desired to see her dance again, to be seduced by her, to make love with her. He was a hypocrite. He didn't deserve her reverence.

"You told me that when you became an Assassin you wanted to return home and liberate your people. Why have you stayed?"

Tülay blinked a few times, then he felt a breath of laughter on his neck. "I am sorry I find your lack of information amusing, Altaïr, but I did not know you had not heard! Frederick Barbarossa is dead."

"Err… Really?"

"Yes! Al Mualim sent two bowmen to intercept him before he reached Antioch. They met his army at the River Saleph and hid along the opposite shore. When Frederick made to cross they shot an arrow that frightened his horse. It threw him, and he drowned. The majority of his forces returned to Byzantium."

"Huh." He briefly wondered if Al Mualim organized that mission for Tülay's sake, but then he reasoned that the less Crusaders meddling in the Holy Land, the better. He started a little when a hand alighted upon his chest.

"Thank you for saving me from that awful dream," the girl said.

His voice was low and solemn. "You shouldn't thank me. I kissed you without permission."

"Thank you for that as well," she smiled. "I used to wonder if my time with you was real. I used to believe I would wake up in my bed in my parents' home and go about my day– cooking, cleaning, shopping, bothering Arslan… But now that I can feel your skin beneath my fingers, I know my experiences were genuine. Escaping Cyprus was real. Killing Javaid was real. The battle against Isaac will be real."

Altaïr breathed deeply to calm himself. It would be so easy to roll over and be atop her, to bury himself in her sweet scent and tangle his fingers in her hair. It would be so easy to kiss her again, to kiss her as many times as she wanted, wherever she wanted his lips on her body.  _'You have to stop,'_  he told himself.  _'You can't have her. She isn't yours to take… But I'm the only one she speaks to like this… I'm the one who makes her feel alive. I'll make her feel whatever she asks for, whatever she begs me to do…'_  The image he summoned was extremely  _not_  conducive to stifling his amorous notions.

"We should…" His words came out as a croak before he cleared his throat. "We should get some rest for the journey home." With that he turned onto his left side. Tülay's hand shifted onto his upper arm and stayed there. He willed her to stop touching him. Her fingers felt like tiny flames dancing upon his skin.

Finally she moved to her right side, but then their backs were together and she rested her foot in the arch of his, fitting them together like a puzzle piece. Neither of them said goodnight, but they both fell asleep to the synchronized rhythm of their breathing.

* * *

Morning sunshine illuminated the tent, making the walls glow. The rapidly increasing temperature warmed Malik from slumber. He awoke with a great yawn and stretched to snap his joints into action, grimacing as several spinal vertebrae released loud pops. After stepping outside to splash his face with cool water, he looked up to find Altaïr perched upon a thin wooden spire, watching the sun as it rose. Trousers were the only article of clothing on his person. "Did you have a good night?" the Assassin asked with a ridiculing smirk. Altaïr did not respond, so he tried again. "You didn't come back after putting Tülay to bed."

"What are you getting at, Malik?"

His smile grew even more crooked. "I heard you whispering sweet nothings to one another, and she screamed your name. Bedding her was not quite what I had in mind when I told you to get her to trust us."

"She had a bad dream, you presumptuous idiot. All we did was talk. We didn't even share the same blanket." The last part was a lie but he didn't want to perpetuate the story Malik would surely spread in order to make him look bad.

"Hmm. In that case I commend your self-restraint. You two have been alone together a fair number of times. Most men would have taken advantage of such situations."

"Yes…" Altaïr muttered. "Most men would have."

The riders in white said little to one another during their return to Masyaf. Altaïr rode at the rear of the group where he constantly found his vision drifting to Tülay. The way her clothing wavered in the breeze made her ethereal, something he could not catch. Day by day she was consuming him, occupying his every waking thought and sleeping dream. He hid in the shadows while watching her routine for a few days: she ate a midday meal with Telash, then went to the archives with him. She would then go for a walk through the hills outside the stronghold and come back to train with Rauf. She ate supper by herself and after the sun went down she climbed the hidden tower, sat on the edge and gazed at the horizon.

She soon became an expert at dual-wielding. She could spin and flip her kenshars in the most unpredictable manner, as if they were extensions of her own body. More than once Altaïr watched an overconfident brother enter the fenced ring and quickly be brought down, but Tülay never gloated or even smiled at her victories.  _'There is no trace of the girl I saw in Antioch,'_  Altaïr had to admit. Her playful, outgoing personality had become that of a stoic, focused killer. Only around Telash or Rauf did he ever see her laugh.

Altaïr learned that Isaac Comnenus was indeed enticing poor and greedy men in cities all along the Levant to join his army. Standing before the desk of Al Mualim, it concerned him to see the great man sigh. "Our efforts are proving successful, Altaïr," the Mentor reassured, "but we cannot be everywhere at all times. Ships are constantly traveling between our land and Cyprus, though I cannot say how filled they are with helpless souls."

"Do the men even know they will be marching upon common people?" Altaïr's tone was hopeful.

Al Mualim sighed again. "Yes, but the promise of riches beyond comparison and Jerusalem's presumed deception blind them to the truth. That is why we need to be there to not only save as many innocents as possible, but to acquire the sword before it falls into Isaac's hands."

"We would need an army of our own to stand against him."

The Mentor nodded slowly. "This I know. When the time comes, all except our children and elder scholars will raise a weapon to defend the Holy City." Al Mualim stood up in order to look his disciple directly in the eye. "You are going to lead them, Altaïr. I cannot deny that you are one of the most highly skilled of our Order. I need you to stand bravely before your brothers as you fight." His eyes beseeched the man. "Will you do this for me, Altaïr? Will you direct our forces against Isaac Comnenus?"

"...Yes," the Master Assassin said after a moment's hesitation. "Yes, I will lead them to battle."

Al Mualim smiled his relief. "I knew you would not disappoint me. You have nothing to fear, Altaïr. Our righteous blades are stronger than all the lost souls who stand against us. We shall claim Soul Edge for the side of justice and use it to prevent men like Isaac from rising up in the first place."

Altaïr wordlessly agreed. He received a dismissive signal from Al Mualim and wore his stolid expression all the way down the stairs where he hoped he would find Tülay at the training ground. It was a novice, however, who sparred with Rauf. The Master Assassin then ventured into the dining hall, but no female form stood out from the sea of men seated at wooden tables. Malik's younger brother spied Altaïr and waved him over. "You're looking for the girl, right?"

He grinned sheepishly. "Was it that obvious?"

"She is in the library studying with the boy who stays in her shadow."

"Of course…" Altaïr grumbled. "Thank you, Kadar." He spun on his heel and jogged down a few more corridors. The entrance to the archives was a pair of heavy wooden doors with bronze handles; the creak they released echoed throughout the entire underground chamber. He looked down every aisle until finding a cluster of young scholars whispering and stealing glances at someone across the way. He followed their stares to Tülay, who was leaning over several large tomes, her posterior the focus of their attention. "Back to your studies, miscreants!" Altaïr shouted, scattering the youths like roaches. The girl turned to greet him with a smile.

"Since when do  _you_  have business in the archives?" she teased.

"Since Kadar told me you were here," Altaïr coolly replied.

Tülay feigned intrigue. "Oh? Since when did I become your business?"

The man couldn't think of a witty response. "What are you researching?"

"Weapon origins," was the answer from Telash, who was seated on the floor out of sight. "We were trying to find out if there has been any mention of Soul Edge in our recorded history."

"Sadly there is no trace of it," Tülay sighed.

"But we  _did_  discover a passage regarding an ancient tribe of people who were well known for creating impressive weapons and supposedly imbuing them with elemental powers."

Altaïr blinked a few times; he had never heard of such a thing. "Do these people have a name?"

"No," the girl supplied, "but they were first recorded to have been seen in the south, much further south than the boarders of Salah al'Din's kingdom."

Telash rose to his feet to point out a picture in one of the books. "This sketch depicts some kind of elemental chart, showing how each is balanced by the others. Fire and water were the easiest aspects of nature to manipulate, so weapons with those elemental properties were created most often."

"According to their lore, fire is a male element and water female," Tülay expounded. "If Soul Edge originates from this culture, it would be a very powerful fire-based weapon that is associated with masculine aspects such as rage, destruction and greed."

"A weapon of complete opposite nature would likely align itself with feminine qualities like charity, growth and love."

Altaïr retreated from the dusty papers being shoved in his face. "You two believe Soul Edge is one of these enchanted weapons from the ancient civilization?"

Telash shook his head vigorously. "Not a civilization, just a tribe. These people were very secretive."

"And very old," Tülay added. "There are markings that do not match any writing system I have ever seen."

"And how many systems is that?"

"Many," the girl smiled. "My father taught me your language because it was easy to learn, but I am also familiar with Farsi, Hindi and Telugu, and Sanskrit by extension."

"I didn't know that," Altaïr said. He was impressed by their tenacity to learn about Soul Edge, but it was of little value when they could only theorize. "I came because I have a message for you from Al Mualim. It's in my room." Telash gave the man a questioning look which he ignored, and Tülay stacked her books neatly before indicating him to lead the way. Altaïr removed the folded parchment from his desk. "Al Mualim said it was time to give this to you."

"What is it?" Tülay asked, but after unfolding it and reading the first paragraph her brow furrowed. Her scowl deepened the longer she read; at the end she crumpled up the letter and threw it toward a vacant corner. "My parents are glad that I am safe with you, but they want me to come home because they found a husband for me– one of Arslan's viziers."

"A  _husband?_ " Altaïr balked, but it wasn't his place to protest. "That is, I'm sure they know what's best for you."

She scoffed in defiance. "I am now stronger than any man in the Sultanate. I am  _free_. I will not return to a life where decisions are made for me." Her visage abruptly softened. "If I marry it will be for love, not politics or money."

"Is there anyone here you would consider marrying?" Altaïr inquired before he could stop himself. As the last word left his mouth he watched her expression change into a smirk. She stepped forward so there was no room between their chests and ran a finger down his cheek.

"Well Altaïr, if  _you_  asked for my hand in marriage, I know my answer would surprise you." She winked and retreated, leaving him gaping like a fish. He hadn't expected the old Tülay to surface, but she was there for a moment. If she answered his proposal with a yes, did that mean she loved him? Not that he could get married any time soon given his upcoming role as a general. A new wife would be nothing but a distraction,  _especially_  if it were Tülay. They would stay in bed for days.

Her veil of humor suddenly fell away. "There is something I have been meaning to ask you, Altaïr…" Tülay cast her eyes downward as if she were ashamed. "I hope it is not so, but… Do you feel as though I have taken advantage of you?"

"What?" he nearly snorted. Where was this coming from? "In the past you've teased me incessantly, but you haven't used me for personal gain… at least while I was conscious."

Tülay pursed her lips at the innuendo. "I mean to ask if you feel I have used you to… elevate my status. Some men are older than me but below me in rank."

"You were my student, Tülay. My duty was to train and prepare you for challenges to come." He took a step toward her. "I know for a fact that you are an Assassin based on your own merit. If you doubt yourself because  _Abbas_  is giving you grief, ask him to prove himself in the training ring." He earned a small smile but was now inwardly annoyed that people were  _still_  belittling her. Maybe the fight against the Cypriots would finally shut them up. Altaïr moved to open the door. "You should come with me. I'm going to teach you to ride a horse."

Tülay's eyes widened. "I  _know_  how to ride a horse," she said indignantly.

"No, you don't. You followed me here from Konya. You followed me to Jerusalem. You followed Malik and I to Damascus. Your mount is not always going to have someone to follow, so you need to learn basic horsemanship. Do not contest me on this." She glared at him for a full twenty seconds before sighing in exasperation and exiting his room, Altaïr chuckling while closing the door behind them. "It'll be easy, you'll see."

"I am more irritated by the fact that there are still things I can learn from you," she grumbled.

Returning the fluster she'd given him, Altaïr lowered his lips to her ear and delivered it a husky whisper that made a shiver go down her spine. "Let us return to my quarters and I'll teach you something you'll beg me to do over and over again."

The girl's jaw dropped as Altaïr skirted past her, laughing loudly. He half expected to feel a strike from behind but there was no immediate retaliation. A bristling Tülay planned to make him pay for that utterance in the very near future.  _'Let us see who does the begging…'_ she thought.


	16. Fourteen

**Catalyst**

Altaïr sat behind Tülay on the unsaddled stallion, holding her waist loosely and wishing she would relax. "He can sense your attitude," the man said while the steed bobbed its head and snorted. "He knows you're anxious and reacts accordingly."

"How is that possible?" the girl asked.

"The reins channel what you are feeling to the bit in his mouth. You need to relax so he can feel at ease."

"Perhaps you should not have picked out the biggest horse in the stable…" Tülay mumbled. The stallion was seventeen hands high and since she was only a little over five and a half feet tall, Altaïr had to give her a boost so she could reach its back. The horse pawed the ground, making her flinch.

"Don't be so tense, he's not going to hurt you. Take deep breaths– try to feel him breathing as well. The more you know about your mount the better you two can work together."

Tülay closed her eyes.  _'It's just a horse… It's just a graceful camel,'_  she thought. When the stallion stood still and pointed his ears to the side instead of backwards in irritation, she smiled.

"Good," Altaïr said, "now squeeze with your legs and move your right hand forward." The girl gasped in awe as the animal began walking. They were outside the village in an open field with plenty of room to practice. Altaïr had set up a small obstacle course of logs and stones which they would be tackling shortly. "When you want him to stop, gently pull back on the reins." Tülay smiled again when the black stallion came to a halt. She watched its ears swivel in every direction to take in sounds she had no hope of discerning. "Now I want you to guide him through the course at an easy walk. Think you can do it?"

"Of course!" she declared, proceeding to direct the stallion around the field strewn with debris. "That was easy," she grinned.

The man chuckled at her arrogance. "Very well, let's try trotting. After walking give a harder squeeze and flick the reins."

The stallion responded wonderfully to Tülay's cues, but there was just one problem: her light frame made her bounce up and down like a rag doll. "This is so uncomfortable!" she disjointedly remarked.

"Now you do need to be a little tense!" Altaïr said over the loud hoof beats. "Use your legs to stabilize yourself and try to move in time to his rhythm." As a dancer this should have been an easy solution, but even with Tülay gripping the horse's sides as tightly as possible she was still being jostled. It didn't help that Altaïr was holding her waist to keep himself from being bounced off the hindquarters. "This is just a transitional gait anyway!" he said after a moment. "Give him a little kick with your heels!"

Tülay did so and released a shout as the stallion broke into a smooth three-beat canter. The strides were long and powerful, much more comfortable than trying to get somewhere fast on a camel. She couldn't help but laugh as the black steed sailed around the field. On the fourth pass Altaïr lifted his arm to point at something in the grass ahead. "See that log? You're going to jump it!" His instructions came quickly because they were bearing down on the obstacle. "As soon as you feel him lift up, lean forward! Then lean back as soon as he lands!"

 _'This is a bad idea!'_  Tülay thought, but steered the stallion toward the jump anyway. She closed her eyes and pressed herself into its mane. For a moment it felt like she was flying, but then the horse landed and since she wasn't prepared for the impact at all, her body was jarred and she let go of the reins, which flew up onto her mount's face. He wildly tossed his head, reared, and sent both riders to the ground before leaping and bucking through the grass. In a slight daze Tülay just stared up into the clear blue sky while Altaïr scrambled to his feet and attempted to catch the horse.

He held his ground as the spooked creature whinnied and snorted. Quick as a cat Altaïr snatched the reins and muttered reassuring words, placing a hand on the stallion's muzzle when he ceased shying. Then he walked over to the girl and looked down at her. "Get back on."

"Certainly not. He hates me."

"He thought he was being attacked," Altaïr said with a smirk. "You have to get back on or you'll be walking to the fortress." That didn't sound fun to Tülay so with an annoyed grunt she stood up, dusted herself off and placed her hands on the horse's back, which she could barely reach. Altaïr lifted her up and once settled she sighed, but took up the reins again.

* * *

For the next few hours Altaïr drilled his student from the ground, making her walk and trot in circles, both wide and compact, and figure eights. He taught her how to canter around objects using himself as the pivot point; Tülay closed her eyes as the horse hunkered down and quickly changed direction, skirting the man with an agility she had not expected it to possess. By the time the sun began to sink she realized how sore she had become and was grateful when the man jumped up behind her and told her to return to the stable. "That wasn't too bad, was it?" he asked as a young boy took the stallion to give it a wash. Tülay wore a pained expression while rubbing her backside. A hot bath sounded divine. "Just remember to hang on to the reins next time you go jumping."

"Never again," she groaned, making the man laugh. "All I want to do is soak, get a massage and go to sleep." She knew that in a cavern beneath the stronghold were several pools of steaming mountain water, but she had yet to use them because she didn't want to be leered at. Although she had to walk a ways to get to the secret alcove by the lake, the privacy was worth it. Except now it was getting dark and the water would be too cold…

"Have you been to the hot springs before?" Altaïr asked as if reading her thoughts. "I don't think I've ever seen you use them."

"That is because I have no desire to been seen in the nude by men I am not acquainted with." But she still wanted to get revenge for his suggestive comment earlier. What would entice him more than being alone and naked with her? Tülay repressed a victorious smirk. "You should join me, Altaïr. You worked up a sweat today as well."

The man looked surprised. "You want me to bathe with you?"

She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from grinning. "It is not as though you are going to take advantage of me. I trust you."

 _'She trusts you not to pin her against the rocks and have your way with her…'_  Altaïr shook that image away. "O-of course… After you." He waited for the girl to retrieve her personal items before following her down into the earth. The temperature increased dramatically as they entered a large cavern with sconces embedded in the walls from which flickering candles highlighted the smooth stone. There were several pools to choose from and they ranged in size from shallow single-person baths to the six-foot deep spring that fed two others. Tülay approached one of them and began removing her weaponry. "Do you want me to turn around?" the man asked.

"If you feel you must."

Her tone held the hint of a teasing note and he wondered if there was more going on than the simple practice of good hygiene. Still, he faced the front of the cave until a slight splash informed him that she was in the water. Altaïr was quick to join her. She washed her hair, paying him no mind as he rested against the edge of the spring and let the heat ease his muscles. An exotic scent wafted past his nose and he opened his eyes to find the girl rubbing a canvas pouch on her arms, generating a layer of lather with the oils within. "What's in that?" he inquired.

"Cloves, mint julep, Argan oil, and other assorted herbs. Do you like it?"

"It doesn't smell very feminine," he remarked.

"Yes, I wanted a neutral scent." Her eyes locked onto him. "Would you like me to use it on you?"

Altaïr stared while the request registered and said "yes" after a moment, closing his eyes when she crossed the pool. The canvas made small circles across his chest, shoulders and arms, the mint making his skin tingle as it found small nicks and cuts. When the girl's hands dipped below the surface to exfoliate his abdomen, he wondered how low she would go. But she stopped scrubbing at his navel and told him to turn around. He did so and the canvas worked its way over his broad back.

Tülay remained focused on her circles until she found herself tracing the ridges of Altaïr's muscles with her fingertips. They were very well defined, strong and enticing. She knew he was in peak physical condition but hadn't expected to actually feel the reason why he could fell five men with ease or leap between buildings without getting winded. She was very familiar with her own body, knew its limitations, but a man's physique was still a complete mystery. Altaïr provided the perfect study.

The sachet floated away while she caressed his shoulders, his biceps, his forearms. Altaïr felt extremely vulnerable but he didn't want to stop her. If Tülay was touching him this way, in this very intimate manner, did that mean she regarded him simply as a man instead of a superior member of the Order? His thoughts were abruptly blown away when her hands slid down to the masculine V of his hips. They crept at a snail's pace along the definition, sending blood rushing to his shaft. Any other time he would be embarrassed by his arousal, but this was different– he wanted her to know how capable he was. His head dropped back into the curve of her neck as he released a slight moan.

Tülay was intrigued that her mere fingers had the power to reduce a man like Altaïr to such a defenseless state. If he were an assassination target her blade could sink into his flesh so effortlessly. He was always so arrogant and irritable with her, yet here he was practically prostrated in her arms all because of her touch. She liked being in control like this, the master of a sexual situation instead of an unwitting victim. No, it was wrong to call him that; Altaïr let her do these things because he  _wanted_  her to. He was willing to let his guard down in order to enjoy the way she made him feel.

Guilt suddenly washed over her and she tore her hands from his body. She was purposely rousing his carnal desires when she had no inclination of satisfying them. It would be incredibly frustrating if someone did that to her. How could she cause him such torment? How could she wield these feminine abilities when the whole point of being in the Order was to prove she was equal to men? Seducing Altaïr was never part of her agenda; she only meant to tease him a little. "I am finished here," Tülay said, swimming over to her pile of clothes.

Altaïr didn't watch while she dressed. Too many thoughts were jostling around his mind and he couldn't guarantee he wouldn't say something foolish to ruin the moment he was still savoring. He desperately wanted to ask Tülay what this was, what it meant, but knew she wouldn't acknowledge it. If it happened again, though, she could no longer pretend there was not a bond between them besides that of master and disciple.

* * *

Tülay did not exit her room the next day. She'd had a fitful night's sleep due to erotic dreams involving Altaïr and was not sure if she could keep her composure around him.  _'I want to feel more of him, but there is a war looming over us. I cannot indulge either of our selfish desires when thousands of lives need us to be focused on protecting them.'_ Once it was over –once the Assassins won– perhaps her lust would subside... but if it didn't, it would be best to go to him right now so she wouldn't be distracted.

But then what? When she returned home her parents would surely want her to marry. She didn't want to settle down into the mundane life of a housewife, she wanted to see the world, to travel to Persia, learn more about the teachings of Zarathustra and combine them with what she had learned here. If she gave herself to Altaïr her people would want her to marry him. She had said she would marry for nothing but love, and she wasn't sure if her feelings for the man equated the word.

A commotion outside reached her ears and made her step into the light. Tülay frowned as she watched everyone rushing about in mild panic. A flood of Assassins made their way to the armory, and those who emerged were armed to the teeth. She stared at the train of horses emerging from the stables until someone blocked her view. It was Telash, who held a bow and full quiver of arrows. He grabbed her shoulders when he noticed she remained unmoving. "Tülay, you must prepare for battle!" She stared back at him with blank, uncomprehending eyes. " _Isaac!_ " the boy shouted, shaking her to action. "Isaac's army has departed Cyprus! His forces are on the way to Jerusalem!"

Finally his words registered. Tülay blinked once and steeled her expression. Telash offered as much a smile as he could and waited while she procured her armaments before the pair headed to the courtyard to mount up. Men carrying pikes and lances remained on foot, so Tülay swung into the saddle of an available grey horse, her stirrups immediately being adjusted by an Apprentice. She glanced around for Altaïr but could not see him anywhere; however, there were other faces she recognized: Abbas, the man who continually sought to discredit her. Malik and his younger brother Kadar. Rauf armed with a large axe on his back and a dagger at his side. There were others she did not know by name, and if their defense of Jerusalem ultimately failed, she never would.

The Assassins were quick to mobilize. So disciplined, in fact, that by the time Al Mualim descended from his tower to speak, most were already gazing up at the balcony hanging over the training ground. He approached the railing with grim determination set in his weathered features. Raising a hand to the majority of the Brotherhood, he inhaled deeply. "You ride to defend Jerusalem from the tyrant known as Isaac Comnenus. He would end the lives of innocent people in order to draw the attention of a powerful sword, Soul Edge. The strength of this weapon is incredible... To allow Isaac the chance to claim it is unacceptable! In addition to protecting Jerusalem, it is your divine task to procure Soul Edge and bring it here for safekeeping."

Tülay gasped when Altaïr appeared by the Grand Master's side. He did not look any different but the aura he exuded sent a shiver down her spine. He had never appeared more dedicated or regal... He had never been seen as such a great leader. "Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad is your general!" Al Mualim bellowed. "His expert voice will be the only one that commands you! Listen to him well, or risk never seeing your brothers against!" More words cascaded over the crowd but Tülay was too focused on watching Altaïr make his way to a lone stallion, the black Arabian, waiting just outside the gates of the stronghold. The steed's barding bore the symbol of the Order and would be the first to lead the charge against their enemy.

Tülay barely caught Al Mualim's last words before a collective battle cry arose and the horses were spurred into action, the entire Assassin army surging forward through the gate as a massive white wave. A dense cloud of dust was thrown into the air while they galloped down the hill and through the village, where the common people watched in amazement as nearly the entire fortress emptied onto their streets.

There were many men, a couple hundred at least. The only ones who had stayed behind were children and the most aged of scholars. Younger archivists armed with bows were easily distinguished by their differently styled robes. They had little knowledge of swordplay but they were all adept marksmen. Telash was one such warrior. All of the guards Tülay had seen positioned around the fortress shared the same stolid expression. Those who patrolled the interior carried heavy broadswords while the men from the parapets were armed with throwing knives, crossbows and steel-tipped arrows.

The horses slowed to a walk when Masyaf was miles behind. It gave an opportunity for the infantrymen to catch their breaths. Their tall, pennant-adorned pikes were visible above all else. The symbol of their Order was proudly on display for each settlement and village to see. With the arrival of nightfall came a massive effort to set up camp. Tents were erected and large fires lit. The horses were liberated of their heavy gear and secured to trees. Tülay rubbed her backside as she tried to figure out where to go. Having lost Telash, there was really no one else she could talk to.

She climbed one of the larger trees to sit in its high branches and watch the stars. It was an activity she had performed almost every night in her homeland, but she would sneak into the sultan's garden to do so– there was no better view than the one from the ancient locust tree. Once settled she sighed, still trying to wrap her head around the events transpiring about her. Was she really marching off to battle against a man who once held her captive? Would she really be fighting against those who believed in Isaac Comnenus as their leader and savior? His crusade was so selfish that Tülay wondered if there was any hope for the souls of the men who followed him. "If not, then their deaths will be righteous..." she said out loud. "I shall not regret spilling their blood."

"Whose blood?" inquired a voice from below, causing the girl to start and almost lose her balance. It was Altaïr, his shadowed visage all but obstructed by the night. Tülay could make out his partially smirking lips, however, and looked down on him disdainfully. "What are you doing up there, lioness?" he asked again. The girl chose the sky over him, yet wondered if he had come to talk about yesterday. Altaïr simply wanted to ensure she ate well tonight because they had a long way to march still. "I humbly request that you join me for an evening meal," he said.

"Would you not prefer to dine with more higher-ranking members than me?" the girl retorted, regarding him from the corner of her eye. The moonlight glinted off them and really did give her the semblance of a panther resting in the branches, surveying potential prey. Her sharp features vanished as she turned and dropped to the ground, landing gracefully. The hooded figures stared at one other until she said "I am rather hungry, I suppose."

Altaïr chuckled. "If you  _suppose_  you are hungry that should be reason enough to eat with me. Come, let me show you the command center." Tülay trailed him past groups of soldiers situated around warm fires. Some looked up at the pair on the move but most kept their gazes fixated on flickering flames as they pondered the fight to come. "Are they frightened?" the girl found herself querying. Altaïr answered without hesitation.

"No. We have trained our entire lives for moments like this. It is the same as when you slew the men in Dimashq."

"I was nervous then," she admitted.

"But now that you have killed bad men it should be effortless to slay viler ones. Think of all the people who passed by you on the streets of Jerusalem..." Altaïr had been watching over her for most of that time. "Remember all the faces of the children and their nurturing mothers and hard-working fathers. We are not going to let them die by Isaac's hand or any hand he commands."

"So you are saying we should not fear the idea of death?"

They paused before the flaps of a tall tent with a flag denoting Altaïr's temporary leadership. He placed a finger beneath Tülay's chin and lifted her face so he could fully see it. She  _was_  afraid of dying, that much her amber eyes revealed, but it was not as obvious as her sense of duty.  _'She is an Assassin.'_  "Death is not something to be feared, but embraced when your time on this earth is over," he spoke. "Those who do fear death fear having their souls condemned. If Isaac dies on the battlefield, he should know there is no paradise waiting to welcome him."

The girl nodded her acceptance of the answer. "Can we eat now?" she asked impetuously, hiding any remaining doubts. Altaïr laughed and held one of the flaps aside. His tent was not very large yet looked comfortable. A table and two chairs were situated in the corner opposite a thick mattress covered in cushions and a fleece blanket. There was also a cage holding a couple pigeons in case he had to send a message to Al Mualim. Tülay took a seat at one side of the table, examining the meal upon it. There was a small roast bird, probably chicken, and vegetables with marks of charring. Bread and a wedge of goat cheese were offered as well as wine.

"Would you like some?" Altaïr indicated the bottle, filling up half a goblet when she nodded. She took a sip and was pleased by the berry flavor. She copied his example of helping himself to one of everything on the table, and they savored the simple meal in silence.

 _'What are you thinking about?'_  Tülay wanted to ask.  _'Are you nervous? Confident? Thrilled? Eager to lead us to battle, or worried that you will fail? If one of our brothers dies are you going to feel personally responsible?'_  She knew these were things Altaïr did not need to hear, for they would just serve to upset him.

The only thing on the Master Assassin's mind was the question of asking Tülay to spend the night with him. He didn't want her to leave yet he knew how fast the gossip would spread if someone realized they were together; Malik in particular kept a close eye on him. None of the men would approve, but it had been settled long ago that they were jealous of the fact Tülay trusted him above all others.  _'What if you don't get another chance?'_  the voice of his illogical mind chimed in.  _'What if she dies in battle?'_

 _'Tülay is not going to die,'_  Altaïr adamantly thought.  _'I won't let her. I won't let anyone fall to the minions of Isaac.'_

_"See? You're already emotionally involved. Now might be the only time to let her know how you feel."_

_'I can't say it unless I know she feels the same.'_

_"Just be a man and admit that you love her!"_

It wasn't that easy. He had confidence in every aspect of his life except when it came to this matter of his heart. The last person he said "I love you" to had been Adha, and she had been killed. But Tülay was a very different woman... If the Templars had hunted _her_ , she would have found a way to turn the tables on them, manipulated their own game to ensure her survival, just as she had on Cyprus. Altaïr was certain it was love he felt for her, for his heart ached whenever they were separated. Being with her –making her laugh, seeing her smile, watching her overcome every challenge the world threw at her– made him feel like he could have a life outside the Order, a life he had never considered possible until meeting Tülay. Because of her, he no longer wanted to live only for himself.

* * *

Tülay did not seem to notice the extended silence. She stayed wrapped up in her thoughts until Altaïr stood to gather their empty dishes, stopping him when he reached for the wine glass. "I could not bear to waste anything," she said, and downed the remainder in one gulp, which made his eyes widen.

"Last time you drank, you fell asleep on a pillow and woke up beside me."

She smiled a little. "And the time before that I ended up performing a dance for Majd Addin's dinner guests. Oh, but I suppose you were not there to see it." The words flowed from her mouth like silk and Altaïr wasn't sure if she was being coquettish or the wine was talking.

"I did see it, actually," he replied while rinsing the plates in a basin. "I followed you and Leharas to Majd's villa and entered through an attic. I hid in the rafters above the kitchen and had an excellent view of the dining room."

Tülay mulled this over for a moment. "I wonder how Leharas is doing. When I last saw him he had fallen off a roof."

"I blinded him," Altaïr commented nonchalantly. The girl gave him a look of horror. "He was the one who sold you to Isaac Comnenus. He is responsible for the torture you had to endure." A slight pause. "In the nightmare you had outside Dimashq… Did he rape you?" The water stilled as he gave her a sideways glance.

The pain that coursed through her visage made Altaïr regret asking his question. "Yes," Tülay said quietly, "I dreamt Isaac had slaughtered everyone I care for, some right before my very eyes, all because he wanted me for himself… And he finally claimed me." The look she gave Altaïr contained an ember that could burst into all-consuming flames of hatred at any moment. "As long as he lives, there is a possibility that he could."

"Forgive me for making you recall such visions."

She waved the apology away. "It is fine. You shared a bad memory with me long ago, so it is only fair." Altaïr nodded and silence reigned again. She watched him move about through hooded eyes, saw the purpose behind every action. If he had been born of her people, he would have made an excellent dancer. Speaking of dances… "What did you think of my performance for Addin? Do you remember it well enough?"

"I remember being fascinated by your outfit," the man smiled. He now sat in the chair opposite her. "It was unlike anything I had seen before, very different from what you wore when you danced in Antioch. To think I believed you a man as I traveled from Konya…" Tülay was still waiting for an answer. "It was… remarkable. The way you dance is captivating. I couldn't take my eyes off you either time. I didn't want to miss a moment of your passion."

This made the girl smile warmly. "My mother always said that passion is what separates good dancers from great ones. Passion gives the musicians a reason to play. It tells the stories, makes it an art worth preserving." She sighed longingly. "I do miss it. I wish to inspire others and learn the stories of other people, how they express their lives through dance."

"You are a woman of many goals," Altaïr said kindly. "I hope you will be able to accomplish them all."

"As do I." Tülay closed her eyes briefly. "Altaïr, I must ask you something. What if I wanted to stay here tonight, with you?"

"I would let you have my bed," he answered easily.

"Would you share it with me?"

"We have shared a bed before."

Her voice was nearly inaudible. "I mean share it… as lovers."

Altaïr abruptly left the table to stand at the foot of his modest bed. His heart was a constant hammer fall, his breath coming fast and shallow. "What do you want from me, Tülay? Answer me honestly, not with another line from one of your acts."

Her arms encircled his waist as her chin came to rest on his shoulder. One hand splayed across his chest, feeling how wildly his pulse raced. "I do not want to die tomorrow without having experienced everything you can make me feel."

Altaïr should have said the last coherent thought he formed. He should have said "you are not going to die. Not tomorrow, not any time soon." Instead of saying that, he turned around and removed the leather belt and kenshars from her waist, then unbuckled the band of throwing knives from her thigh. Lastly he loosened the straps of her bracer that held the Hidden Blade and let it fall to the wayside. "Are you certain this is what you want? This had better not be the wine speaking."

"This is me admitting that I desire you, and it would be foolish to keep pretending otherwise. I know you want the same thing."

How could she be so calm when he felt like a sun ready to explode? "I want to make love with you," he murmured.

The girl smirked– he felt it against his lips. "I am no delicate flower, Altaïr."

"Very well…" He mirrored the expression. "I want to leave you gasping for air after proclaiming my name to the heavens. And then I want you to beg me to do it again, and again, and again." He pounced on Tülay's lips after hearing a sharp intake of breath, pushing her backwards to the edge of the bed. They fell upon it together, already a tangle of limbs and tongues and fingers in hair. The night was very young.


	17. Fifteen

**Dominance**

Altaïr conducted a symphony of sultry sounds that filled the immediate atmosphere with faint breaths and moans of ecstasy, and his own satisfied groans joined in as Tülay moved her hips in ways he could only describe as magical. Her natural rhythm made her an excellent lover, and Altaïr had the stamina to please her long into the night. Once his initial lust had been placated he became familiar with her body, a process of slow kisses from head to toe in which he memorized every curve and lithe muscular ridge. He came to a scar marring her lower abdomen and traced it with one finger. "How did you get this?"

Tülay's eyelids briefly fluttered open. "I tried to escape the two soldiers who brought me before Frederick Barbarossa. One of them drew a dagger and I cut myself on it while fighting the other's grasp."

"I am sorry you must bear that memory."

The girl sat up to examine it herself. "It has faded well." She placed a hand on Altaïr's cheek and ran her thumb over the faint white line traversing his lips, but didn't ask where it came from. Instead she leaned forward and kissed him softly, then pulled him over her as she lay back down. Everything that followed was gentle, not frantic like before. She caressed his broad shoulders and tickled the fine hairs on the back of his neck. He had hopelessly tangled his fingers in her tresses, the color of rich earth. They breathed together, inhaling fresh air to fuel their passion, exhaling warmth and trust.

Altaïr pondered why it was called "making love" when there already had to be love for two people to reach nirvana. Their souls flew higher and higher, soaring over the world like eagles, until it was time to return to their mortal shells and rest. Before the woman at his side fell asleep, he whispered what was in his heart. "I want to stay with you forever."

Tülay released a slight sigh. "I am leaving these lands, Altaïr. You know this."

"I know. I'll go with you to Persia."

A pause. "Are you willing leave the only life you have ever known?"

"To live out the rest of my days with you, yes." He felt a shiver go down her spine and wrapped an arm around her waist. "I promise I will follow wherever you wander. I promised I would keep you safe, so let me do so as your husband."

This made Tülay turn over, her eyes wide and brow knitted in confusion. "You want… to marry me? How can you say this on the eve of battle?"

Altaïr smiled a little. "When faced with his own mortality, a man begins questioning his life– what he has done, what he is doing, and what he has yet to do. I was born into the Order. I have served Al Mualim for many years and thus served mankind as their guardian. I feel it is time  _I_  became a mentor, if you will let me teach alongside you."

Tülay was unable to articulate a response, but she took solace in knowing he returned her feelings. For the longest time her love had been that of admiration– Altaïr was her savior, someone she had placed on a pedestal and aspired to emulate. Yet now they were equals and even wanted the same things out of life. "I love you," she finally said, becoming lightheaded as the last word left her tongue. That was the truth; there would be no more denying or repressing her emotions. He was the most amazing man in the world and she wanted to spend eternity with him. Altaïr responded by giving her a deep kiss that erased all conscious thoughts from her mind. There would definitely be more of those in the days to come.

* * *

When dawn broke the Assassin army opened their eyes to it one by one. The novices were the first to rise and quickly set to work waking the others and loading up the carts. The slight noises were enough to rouse Tülay, who regretfully left Altaïr's warm bed. It would look very bad if someone came into the tent to wake their commander and saw them together, so to save the Master Assassin a conflict he didn't need to deal with she stepped into the chilly morning air.

She rewrapped her shawl to cover more of her arms, briskly rubbing them. Some men carrying provisions to the carts muttered good morning and she nodded back. She crossed the camp to her horse, a dapple grey steed that looked up at her with intelligent eyes. "Ah,  _there_  you are..." a rather familiar voice announced from behind. Tülay rotated to face Malik, who was staring at her with his arms folded and brow furrowed. "Where did you disappear to last night?"

"I fell asleep in a tree, if you can believe it," she laughed.

"I don't believe it," Malik returned, "because I'm  _certain_  I saw you enter Altaïr's tent and I  _know_  you didn't come back out."

The girl kept her head up and looked him in the eye. "We shared a meal and spoke late into the night."

"Really? Are you sure you did not share his bed as well? Are you sure no one saw you leave his tent but minutes ago? Unless my eyes deceive me, or some enchantment has been cast upon them, that is  _exactly_  what I saw. You are a stupid, selfish girl, Tülay."

She bristled at the remark, feeling her grip tighten on the reins as her temper flared. "You know nothing of our association, Malik…"

The man laughed mockingly, spreading his arms wide. "Do I look like I was born yesterday? I know you lay with him! It's written all over your face! What in your right mind made you think it was a good idea to spread your legs for Altaïr before we head into battle?" He shook his head incredulously. "Now instead of focusing on keeping the rest of us alive, the only one he will see is _you_. He'll sabotage battle plans to prevent  _you_  from getting hurt." Malik turned away and scoffed. "Al Mualim should have kept you in Masyaf with the elders and children, not sent you to war with men!"

"Altaïr would never sacrifice anyone to save me..." Tülay bit out. "I would not let him. I am going to war against Isaac Comnenus because I want to see him  _die_. No one –not you nor Al Mualim, not even Altaïr– knows how cruel he was to me." She took a few steps toward him to convey a seething glare more effectively. "I lived among the populace of Jerusalem for a month. I am not going to allow  _anyone_  to prevent me from fighting to protect their lives. Condemn me if you wish, Malik, you and everyone else who says I do not belong here..." Tülay released her Hidden Blade against his chest, which stopped just below his chin. The man's eyes darted between it and her visage. "...But I am not leaving until this weapon has pierced Isaac's black heart."

Malik slowly stepped away from the girl. Threatening him was in violation of the Creed, but now he regretted confronting her in the first place. Everyone knew she had been in Isaac's possession on Cyprus for weeks on end, Allah knowing what she endured. Supposedly women did not leave the island with their virginity intact. Altaïr knew this, yet he was still willing to have her. Since returning from Konya with her, he'd been the only one to see past her gender. Even Al Mualim had used her feminine assets against their enemies. Tülay was strong. She was agile, graceful and swift. She followed the same rules as everyone else and was subject to the same disciplinary actions if she broke them. She was doing her duty by marching with the men to Jerusalem, to a battlefield where there was a chance she could lose her life. But she showed no hesitation. Her duty was also a personal vendetta, and she wouldn't let anything or anyone hold her back.

Altaïr jolted awake, immediately glancing to his side where Tülay should be. But the space was barren, cold in fact, and his eyes anxiously darted all around the tent.  _'She's not here...'_  his mind raced.  _'Why is she not here?'_  He shoved his legs into cotton trousers before making a mad dash to the outside world where his brown eyes examined everyone bustling around the site. "Tülay!" he shouted, earning curious looks.

Like a ghost the girl materialized beside him. "Yes?" Altaïr spun to his right and instantly breathed a sigh of relief. She searched his worried features, wondering what was so wrong.

His heart was still pounding away. "Last night..." he said in a clandestine tone, "did we...?" He raised his eyebrows suggestively, making her cheeks turn red as strawberries. Her gaze conveyed all he needed to know.  _'For once it wasn't a dream…'_

"Put some clothes on, Altaïr!" Telash suddenly shouted, snickering at the mostly-naked man. "No one wants to see  _that_  first thing in the morning!" A chorus of laughter followed as the Master Assassin puffed out his chest. He knew he was more attractive than most of his peers, and Tülay knew it too because she licked her lips while looking him twice-over.

"If you keep doing that I'll have to pull you back in here, and then we'll never reach Jerusalem," Altaïr said. Tülay rolled her eyes and left him with a smirk.

* * *

The Assassin army continued its trek toward Jerusalem while the sun beat down mercilessly on the riders, their mounts, and the infantrymen. Their white garments helped deflect most of the harsh rays but the earth acted as an oven that baked them from below. "Suphanallah..." Tülay groaned from her position between Rauf and Altaïr. "I hate this weather. Konya is much cooler. Where is the wind?"

"Recall that Jerusalem lies inland from the Mediterranean," the weapons master explained. "It rests in the hills before the Dead Sea."

"I did not think it took so long to get there," Tülay grumbled. "The first time was much quicker." Over the course of five days the Assassin army trekked relentlessly toward the Holy City. Because the summer heat was becoming unbearable they made stops whenever fresh water was available, to keep the horses going if not for themselves. When they reached a farming community called Mirabel they knew they would see Jerusalem beyond the dunes tomorrow.

"What if we're too late?" Telash nervously asked. "Jaffa is much closer to Jerusalem than we are... What if Isaac sacked the city already?"

"I think we would have heard something about it if that is the case," Rauf answered kindly, knowing everyone was growing more anxious the closer they arrived.

Altaïr tried every night to coax Tülay to engage in nocturnal activities with him, but each night she politely refused, much to his frustration. She slept near her horse, which would snort if anyone came too close.  _'Maybe that's a good thing...'_  Altaïr thought as he lay alone yet again.  _'It won't hesitate to carry her toward the enemy.'_

Within the hours of the early morning Jerusalem finally came into view. Tülay recalled that several months ago she had stayed with the scribe Leharas and been sold by him to a slave trader named Talal. Majd Addin was the self-appointed regent who had taken command of the city in Salah al'Din's absence. She felt as if her experience here had taken place in another lifetime. Guards took notice as the white army encroached upon the city and within minutes a considerable crowd had gathered at the north gates. Altaïr and his war council, which consisted of Tülay, Telash, Malik and Rauf, explained that they were there for their protection and no one would be harmed as long as they stayed within the city walls. After he left the commoners continued to buzz, and the gossip must have reached Majd Addin's ears because he appeared late in the afternoon.

Tülay bristled when she saw him approaching in his fines robes, not forgetting that he had dropped coins into the purse that persuaded Leharas to sell her to Talal. Thankfully the hood shielded her face and he remained ignorant of whom he spoke to. "What's going on? Who are you people and what are you doing here?" he demanded.

"Are you the ruler of Jerusalem?" she casually inquired.

"Yes" was the haughty reply.

She leaned closer to him. "An enemy is marching upon your city with the intent to raze it. But we have come to stop them. It is in our interest to keep Jerusalem safe from this threat."

"We're going to be  _attacked?_ " Majd hissed. "And you just want us to stand idly by and do  _nothing?_ "

"Precisely," Tülay smiled. "We have everything under control. In fact, gathering forces would only hinder us. So please, for your own safety, stay within the city. Do not send soldiers to aid us. No one will die this way."

The man looked aghast but had no choice but to consent to the instructions. "Very well," he said gruffly, "we will only wait and watch. Is there anything you need? Weapons? Supplies? Sanity?"

Tülay laughed at the last offering and shook her head before turning her back on Majd. A garrison of tents was set up in front of the city's decimated western wall with Altaïr's quarters directly in the center. All the men were at work sharpening blades and reinforcing their light armor. The scholars were engaging in target practice, and instruction passed from masters to apprentices. Altaïr looked up when the girl entered his shaded space. "I was beginning to wonder if my future wife was avoiding me," he said coolly.

"We are finally here..." Tülay smiled, but her nervousness was evident. "Now we must wait for the Cypriots." She paused to bite her lip, a habit Altaïr found rather endearing. "What if there are too many of them? We know not the extent of his forces."

The Master Assassin considered it. "Isaac is desperate, as are those who follow him. They are not expecting us, meaning we already have an advantage. I also devised a strategy, of course." They exited the tent and faced the road to the coast. "See those dunes?" Altaïr pointed. "Our archers will be positioned behind them and catch Isaac's men in a crossfire. That will narrow their numbers if they decide to charge us. I'm sure our cavalry is superior as well."

Tülay nodded slowly. It wasn't a bad plan; the arrows would be deadly to those without thick armor. But there were a few problems the girl noticed and for that she lent her advice. "Isaac will have archers as well, and what shields do  _we_  have to protect us?"

Altaïr examined his troops. True, most of them were without shields… except the guards of Masyaf's interior. "I have a new idea," he said.

* * *

The drums in the darkness were a pompous announcement of Isaac Comnenus' arrival. The Assassins heard chanting in the night, some kind of preemptive victory song that proved how overconfident they were. Sentinels hidden in the surrounding sands quickly worked their way back to the garrison, remaining unseen, into Altaïr's tent. "They are here," Malik reported with a grim countenance. "Their numbers are greater."

"By how many?"

"A hundred at least."

"It appears as if the majority of his force is comprised of Greek foot soldiers," the younger Al-Sayf brother offered. "Tülay was accurate in her description of the knights, however. They wear heavy armor. Some carry lances, others have tower shields."

Altaïr nodded slowly; the news didn't bother him. "Let us wait until they settle in, then we shall send them a welcome present." Another Master Assassin opted to perform the task of slaying one of Isaac's captains in his own tent, removing the corpse and leaving a blood-stained feather behind. When it was discovered, a sentinel with a spyglass informed Altaïr that most of the peasants Isaac had recruited were deserting, fleeing back to Jaffa in fear of their unknown enemy.

Isaac's roar of rage carried across the sand, alerting the Assassins that it was time to get into formation. The archers hurried to their hiding spots, lying flat on their stomachs in wait of the signal to rise and shoot. The infantry sorted itself into two lines, pikes sharp and unwavering, and the remaining Assassins, over one hundred men and one young woman astride hardy Arabians, steeled themselves for combat.

From across the thermal dunes came a mass of soldiers in chain mail, full helms and lamellar, staring hard at their foes in white. Some men knew they would be impaled on the long, deadly heads of the pikes during the charge and the thought of being disemboweled caused their metal plates to rattle in fear. "Eyes forward!" Isaac yelled from atop his fully-barded mount. The stallion trumpeted and stamped its hooves, rearing up to present Isaac in his pitch black armor. Tülay fixated her eyes on the man– he was her only target. She would kill as many as necessary to reach him. "It seems Jerusalem has mustered some brave fools to protect itself! But you have a higher purpose than them... Let it strengthen your blades to better cut them down!" Isaac pointed his claymore at the white army. "First company..." he bellowed, "ATTACK!"

Tülay's grip on the reins tightened as battle cries were seemingly directed at her. She reached for the twin kenshars on her back and Altaïr drew his long sword, the hawk-like pommel gleaming fiercely. The girl tried to let his unfazed expression infuse her, but her hands still trembled.  _'What if I die?'_

When the Greek soldiers crossed a line of pebbles Altaïr lifted his arm into the air. "Archers!" he shouted, and at once the black-robed scholars rose from the sand with bows drawn.  _"Fire!"_

Isaac watched his men be punctured from both sides; it was an excellent trap. The shafts drove deep into limbs and organs, killing instantly or procuring a slow, agonizing death. After a few volleys the archers retreated to form new ranks on either side of the cavalry, aiming toward the sky in preparation for the next wave. "Second company!" The Lord of Cyprus called forth several squads of men in full lamellar. Their enormous shields formed a barricade for his archers as they slowly advanced toward the gates of Jerusalem. "Fire at will!"

The Assassin cavalry was too far away to be struck by the hail of arrows but the pikemen were out in the open. "Defense!" Altaïr commanded. Masyaf's guards rushed forward, placing themselves in front of the infantry and raising their metal bucklers to deflect the storm of jagged tips. At the same time, a line of crossbows appeared over the edge of the wall behind them, bolts aimed at the gaps between the advancing force.

Isaac's arrogant visage slackened a little. He heard the hooded man in white give the order to shoot while his own archers scrambled to nock new arrows. A wave of deadly missiles managed to infiltrate his shield wall and each was pierced by a lightning-fast projectile. Their death cries reached his ears, a sound that made Isaac realize the truth of the situation: his foe was well-trained, highly organized, and much more merciless than his own men.

The majority of his army, though, was made up of armored mercenaries. Some had traveled with him from Byzantium, others had abandoned their kings and joined him on Cyprus. Richard had yet to break past Arsuf, but Jaffa had fallen so easily, not hindering his crusade in the least. Isaac's expendable infantry consisted of Greeks and Armenians, but he would sacrifice some of Barbarossa's knights who hadn't wanted to return to the Holy Roman Empire empty-handed.

Isaac commanded perhaps three-hundred knights wielding poleaxes and swords. When he gave the signal, they would surge forward and splatter the enemy against the wall they had so foolishly positioned themselves in front of.

* * *

On the western shore of the Dead Sea, the man from the east turned his monstrous gaze skyward, taking a deep breath of the scent he craved.  _"A great battle is waging..."_  the voice in his head rumbled.  _"I sense the souls of many powerful warriors, and one in particular whose desire for power does not even match your own."_

The man halted suddenly, his heavy form sinking into the sand.  _'But it is I who will become strong enough to be worshiped as a god... right?'_

The voice laughed cruelly.  _"Yes... it shall be you. Your mind has become so consumed by the thought that you have already ascended your human form."_

With a distorted frown the man looked down at his chest, amazed by what he saw. The armor he wore was stained a black darker than night and had seemingly fused with his skin. His body had grown, his muscles now rippling beneath the breastplate, bracers and greaves. Whether due to the blood of all the people he'd slain or the will of the sword, his skin had the semblance of many open wounds, though none were actively bleeding. His bones had strengthened and were now jutting out of his body, most noticeably from his shoulders and knees.

Grinning at his new fearsome appearance, the man drove his feet deep into the sand, pushing himself to run faster over the hills before him. The warriors were on the other side, as were the souls of many innocents. Once he had consumed the entire battlefield, he would not hesitate to decimate the city. It would be easy once he became a god.

* * *

Isaac slammed his visor down as his horse reared up before leaping into a hard gallop. "CHARGE!" he howled, and was followed by his knights without a second's delay. Their cry caused everyone within Jerusalem to sink lower into their hiding places.

"Here they come..." Altaïr announced with calm determination. "Prepare yourselves!" Swords, daggers, axes and throwing knives all left their sheathes to enter the hands of the Assassins. The onslaught of heavily-armored warriors did not faze them. The only difference now was their quarry was running straight toward them, facing their demise head-on instead of fleeing to cling to life just a moment longer. Without a word the pikemen began running forward. Altaïr spurred his mount, soliciting a whinny, and led the cavalry charge. Closer the opposing force came, louder grew the sound of hoof beats upon dry, cracked land.

Slender Assassin blades easily found the gaps between breastplates, cuisses and spaulders. Isaac himself managed to avoid being skewered by a pike, but those behind him were not as lucky. They died instantly, either being impaled and thrown to the wayside or trampled by the oncoming Arabians. The Assassin phalanx fanned out, creating channels for the cavalry to ride between. Arrows and crossbow bolts still struck true from the wall of Jerusalem, reducing the knights to more manageable numbers.

Altaïr rode straight for the man in black, slashing at his neck before quickly turning his mount around for a second pass. In response to the personal attack, Isaac wheeled and swung his heavy sword in a diagonal arc. The Master Assassin abandoned the saddle just as the blade would have severed his leg. Most of the riders had been dismounted and were now engaging in one-on-one combat.

Tülay remained astride her horse, tossing throwing knifes into the throats of enemies who put her allies in jeopardy. One such man was stood above Rauf, who had been knocked down and would have died if his combatant did not suddenly find himself choking on blood. The training master gave her a grateful grin before turning to sever a spine with his large axe. Tülay directed her brave steed with the strength of her legs while slashing and stabbing enemies on both sides of her. Just as she righted herself to gaze out over the battlefield she spied Isaac's form looming over Altaïr, his claymore poised high to split him in half. She furiously kicked her horse in their direction.

On the ground, the Master Assassin tasted blood from his split lip, smearing it over the back of his hand before glaring up at the man who had molested his bride-to-be. This thought enraged him and he reached for the long sword that had been knocked from his grip.

Tülay gasped when Isaac let his blade fall. In slow motion she felt her feet leave the stirrups, one planting itself upon the sturdy back of the saddle as her horse sprinted past the armored man. _"Altaïr!"_  she screamed, launching herself at Isaac. He glanced up just in time to see the woman in white flying toward him. They collided and Tülay's momentum sent them both sprawling across the sand.

"Augh!" the Lord of Cyprus grunted. His plate armor weighed him down considerably, so in his rage of being denied the head of the Assassin leader he ripped off his breastplate and tasset, leaving them on the ground while he stood.

Altaïr scurried to his feet in order to drag the girl away from Isaac. "Are you insane, Tülay?!" he shouted.

"I just saved your life!" She tried to smile, but smashing into the sturdy man had been rather painful, so she winced instead. "I will be fine! Leave me!" She managed to steady her wobbling frame in order to focus on the man in black. Each hand gripped a kenshar with resolve that could not be swayed. She would kill him, here and now.

Altaïr was reluctant to let her fight Isaac on her own, but he knew it was the real reason why she was here. He left her with a rueful parting gaze and turned his attention on the remainder of his brethren. The soldiers were no match for their swift, agile movements, and he spied no dead bodies clothed in white.  _'Good...'_  he smirked,  _'let Isaac realize how futile his campaign was before meeting death.'_

By now the Assassin archers had formed a wide circle around the war zone, striking down enemies while working their way inward. All of a sudden, however, blood sprayed from their black robes, three scholars instantly falling dead. Altaïr spun around, taking in the sight of a lone figure striding slowly and deliberately toward him with a massive scythe in hand. The eye at the base of the blade gave it the appearance of a vicious bird of prey.

Altaïr readied himself against this new foe who wore an outfit not unlike his own. His faced was shadowed by a hood attached to a sleeveless green tunic that bore a golden insignia, and he wore gloves and tall boots. Altaïr had to look upward to take in the full height of the man, and bulky arm muscles revealed that he was indeed a warrior. "Stand aside," his deep voice commanded. "I do not wish to fight you."

"Yet you cut down my men without mercy," Altaïr returned. "For that I cannot let you live."

Zasalamel sneered, an almost frightening expression. "You people do not even know what it is you fight for. Leave before you  _all_  die." His grip on the shaft of the scythe tightened.

"We're here for Soul Edge, same as Isaac Comnenus," Altaïr smugly replied, feeling his muscles tighten in anticipation.

The dark man's golden eye flashed. "How do you know about the sword?"

"A little bird escaped her cage on Cyprus and told us everything. We will  _not_  allow him to obtain Soul Edge."

"I do not intend to let the sword fall into his hands, either..." Zasalamel spoke in a menacing tone. His words caught the Master Assassin off-guard, making him gape uselessly. "There is only one man here who deserves that weapon and it is  _me_. For the last time, I warn you to remove yourself from this conflict."

Altaïr spat and pointed his sword at the man. "I'll take my chances against death."

Zasalamel scoffed, shaking his head at his foolish opponent. He assumed a wide, omnipotent stance. "Very well… I shall hold a requiem for your soul."


	18. Sixteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suphanallah: good god/oh my god  
> Habibty: my love (Arabic)  
> Askim: my love (Turkish)

**Reliquary**

Isaac slowly circled the warrior who dared face him in single combat. He was appalled when he realized the person who had knocked him down was in fact a woman. Even now he glanced at her cleavage and sneered. The pointed hood kept her face hidden, but soon enough he would be staring into her eyes before dragging his dagger across her throat. The only weapons she held were two short, curved swords; a set of empty sheathes encircled her thigh, but the blades housed there had been spent long ago. The Lord of Cyprus relaxed his arms, though his right hand maintained a firm grip on the massive claymore. He left himself wide open to test the discipline of his female opponent. She remained still, lifting her head enough to reveal rose-colored lips. Isaac hummed approvingly. "I can tell you are very beautiful. A mouth says a lot about a woman."

"Does it tell you that you will not leave this place alive?"

Her words were calm yet determined, and they made Isaac's pulse quicken. If he had the opportunity he would drag her away from the battlefield and take her. Maybe there was something special about this woman, some reason why the white army had brought her. Was she the general's sister, or perhaps his wife? If the latter, violating her would be quite gratifying; her husband would have to kill her afterward. Smirking, Isaac stood with his blade behind his back, as if it were still sheathed, and puffed out his chest. "I'll grant you the advantage of a first strike."

A light scoff escaped the woman. "I already have it. Face me like a man,  _coward_."

Isaac admitted that many negative adjectives described him, but "coward" was not one of them. He dashed forward with more agility than the woman expected, bringing his sword straight down. It would have sliced her in two, but she raised her twin daggers and caught the blade. She collapsed slightly under the force of the blow before spinning to one side, shoving his sword in the opposite direction. He then swung horizontally, but she did a back bend and the blade passed right over her.

With a disgusted grunt Isaac let his cumbersome weapon fall to the ground and picked up a flail from one of his fallen knights, spinning it at waist-level. The woman circled him warily, and rightly so– in the blink of an eye the spiked head almost shattered her arm. Isaac was uncannily adept with the flail, using his momentum to deliver attacks from every angle.  _'What an unpredictable weapon,'_  Tülay thought, ducking to avoid another blow. This was her chance– she darted forward and managed to slice through his leather cuisse, earning a shout of pain.  _'He may be fast, but I am much quicker.'_  Isaac's swings became wilder, as if drawing his blood had invigorated him. Tülay couldn't exactly block the heavy metal ball so she had to keep moving around to disorient him. But his focus was that of a wolf on a hare, and he didn't give her a chance to strike him again. She had to do something to get inside his defense before her endurance ran out.

She hopped over the weapon as Isaac tried to sweep her feet out from under her, but then the unexpected happened: he dragged the head of flail through the sand, sending up a spray toward her face. With a surprised cry Tülay dropped one of her kenshars to paw at the sand, and she barely opened her eyes in time to raise her other dagger in defense. The chain coiled around it and with a triumphant laugh Isaac tugged her forward, yanking the weapon from her grasp. He dropped the flail and wrapped an arm around her, pulling her into him, nearly crushing her against his bulk.

"That was one of the most interesting duels of my life, but once again I prove superior." Tülay blinked furiously to banish the sand from her visage. She had to get away, get out of his grasp before he could do something… like pull the hood away from her visage.

For a moment Isaac stared in disbelief. He recognized her, certainly– she was the one who got away, the virgin he didn't get to have. He remembered that skin, those lips, that hair… and those eyes. When Tülay opened her eyes she fixated him with a glare containing nothing but murderous intent. Yet she was powerless in his arms, and the Lord of Cyprus felt a rush of excitement at that. His men were dying, defeat was inevitable, but if he could escape to Jaffa with Tülay and finally claim her, he would be victorious.

As he stood there grinning down at her, he didn't notice that Tülay had placed her hand on his chest. She did not struggle against him and her breath was calm. She felt his heartbeat, felt his whole body tingling in anticipation. She could tell exactly what he had in mind, and the notion made her smile. "You will never have me…" she muttered. Isaac tensed, straining to hear her.  _"Die."_

She triggered the Hidden Blade.

Time seemed to slow for Isaac. He felt something moving beneath the girl's arm, and then sharp metal sliced through the rings of his chainmail. It went through his gambeson like butter, and as the tip pierced his skin he shoved Tülay away. But the blade kept coming, easily passing through a thin layer of fat, separating muscle, slipping between his rib cage with uncanny accuracy…

And then a tremor diverted the blade from his heart. He felt it twist violently, cleanly slicing a bone, and then both he and the girl fell to the ground in the wake of the shockwave. Tülay landed on her stomach facing the wall of Jerusalem. What she saw there robbed her of all speech and feeling.

* * *

Zasalamel was unlike anyone Altaïr had fought before; suffice to say, he was losing. The man's stature belied his agility, which Altaïr knew even Tülay would be hard-pressed to match. He was so quick, and the scythe gave him unbeatable range. The Master Assassin managed to deflect that sharp beak most of the time, but the tip nicked his arms, reducing the sleeves of his tunic to tattered ribbons. Thin red lines appeared on his forearms, stinging as powdery sand landed in them and turned his cuts into brackish rivers on his skin.

After missing a strike from the pointed cap of the scythe, Altaïr danced back out of range and took a moment to collect himself. He was tired and panting. Beads of sweat ran into his eyes, burning and blurring his view of his opponent. He expected the man to attack while he appeared off-guard, but Zasalamel only regarded him apathetically. "Stop this foolishness and live," he then spoke.

Altaïr spat out the grit in his mouth. "I cannot allow someone who murdered my men to simply walk free—"

The rest of his proclamation was cut off by a sudden upheaval of the earth, as if the ground had turned to water and a wave rippled through the battlefield. Everyone fell, some going gracefully to their knees, others dropping their weapons as they landed in a clattering heap. Altaïr stumbled but didn't go down, and neither did Zasalamel. He turned to see what the golden-eyed man was staring at.

A monster commanded his gaze. It had the semblance of a human only in stature, for all else made it a grotesque, malformed creature of pure evil. Deep violet veins bulged over crimson flesh swollen beneath armor forged in Hell. Infected bone protruded from the creature's shoulders, knees and elbows. What passed for hair was scarlet in color and emerged from beneath a horned helm, which obscured the creature's face aside from two blazing red slits.

Soul Edge used the eyes of his host to survey the battlefield, where everyone faced him in horror. A good number of soldiers were already dead, which was very disappointing, but their souls could still be harvested. He took note that the majority of the remaining warriors were wearing white, so they would provide more sustenance than the ones in full armor. Where was the one whose spirit he had sensed from so far away? Soul Edge would offer this person the opportunity to become its new host, which his current vessel protested at, but the will of the sword silenced the man's voice once and for all.

Like statues the Assassin and Cypriot armies watched the creature enter their midst. Tülay tried forcing herself to rise but found she was completely drained of strength. To the left Isaac stared in awe at the manifestation of the sword. It was just as Zasalamel had described: power incarnate. This was his chance to claim it for himself, but Isaac needed the man to separate the sword from its host. Where was the mage?

Suddenly, as if a switch had been flipped, everyone exploded into action. The Assassins knew that this was the weapon Al Mualim sought and quickly worked to dispatch the remainder of Isaac's men. The knights fought back, however, as the voice of Soul Edge entered their minds and told them whoever proved worthy would have a taste of the godly power he could offer. Tülay clawed at her temples in an effort to keep the terrible voice out of her head. It knew how much she loathed Isaac Comnenus and how great her desire to kill him was. If she gave herself to the sword, it would grant her the strength to end his life and all others she despised with ease. Admittedly the thought was tempting, since she had failed to slay him with the Hidden Blade…

 _"Ahh…"_  the creature hissed delightedly,  _"so you are the one."_  He extended a hand toward the female approaching him. Animosity teemed within her, turning her eyes dark and cold. The sword delved deep into her mind to seek the source of her hatred, glancing at the man in black armor bleeding on the ground. She had wounded him, but not fatally. Soul Edge was offering her the chance to end Isaac's existence. He would no longer haunt her dreams.

Altaïr almost could not fathom the sight of his lover walking right up to the abominable creature.  _'What is she doing?!'_  His mind reeled without an answer. The sword's spirit promised to grant all his wishes, his every desire, but he already had what he needed in life. He had Tülay's love, and now Soul Edge was trying to steal her away from him. He didn't feel his feet pushing him forward. He no longer sensed the blood trickling down his arms nor cared that his aching body protested against the mad dash he made for the girl. She was lifting her hand to touch the vile eye of the sword in the creature's grip. Altaïr did not hear himself call out her name in desperation. She was almost within reach...

Zasalamel suddenly appeared beside the host, swinging a bright blue sword at it. Just as Tülay brushed Soul Edge's eye with her fingertips she was blinded by a stream of light, and when she recovered she saw that the hand holding Soul Edge was no longer attached to an arm. The creature bewailed its agony, an inhuman cry that stilled the beating hearts of every man witnessing the macabre scene. A black miasma escaped the wound, a spiritual essence leaving its host as nothing more than an empty husk. Zasalamel grinned as the mist funneled into the eye of Soul Edge.

This was it. This was his chance to unite the vile blade with the spirit sword he had been carrying for so long, Soul Calibur. Their fusion would cut his ties to immortality and he would finally be free of this cursed existence. "At last..." the man breathed, the demon sword twitching like a nest of maggots. Zasalamel fell to his knees, positioning the gleaming Soul Calibur above that abysmal eye. Uniting the blades would shatter them both, creating an endless transfer of creative and destructive forces. Of love and hate. Of life and death.

With wide eyes Tülay watched her hopes slipping away, ruined by the man with the scythe. For a moment she was consumed by wrath– how  _dare_  Zasalamel interrupt her chance to rid the world of Isaac's vile soul! He would be the next to die... after she took the sword unto her own body and became more powerful than anyone in the world. More powerful than Altaïr. More powerful than Al Mualim. More powerful than Soul Edge itself. She reached for the mage to interrupt the incantation he was muttering and was abruptly thrown back by a glare, the light from his golden eye slamming into her like a divine hand.

Zasalamel plunged Soul Calibur into Soul Edge.

Altaïr caught Tülay before she hit the ground, then turned to shield her from the intense energy wave. He couldn't tell if his clothes were actually disintegrating, if the skin on his back was icing over. He stood there, holding her, willing the conflicting energies to subside. He did not notice that she still reached for the sword, the one who reached out to her in turn.

Zasalamel clung to the holy blade, feeling both weapons begin to fragment and tear at the fabric of reality with their opposing spirits. Eventually that sensation spread throughout his entire body, and he allowed himself to be pulled into the rift, the void where he could finally be at peace. His soul was so weary, so tired… He smiled before his physical form completely vanished from the world. He was free.

As Soul Edge struggled to overcome the light of its eternal nemesis it sought an anchor, anything to leave a fragment of itself in this world so it could manifest once again. It felt Tülay's spirit calling out, pleading for its strength to become hers. Soul Edge expanded its essence, stretching to meet her… and succeeded.

Everyone watching saw a writhing shadow curl around Tülay's outspread fingers, a talon that pulled her from Altaïr's embrace. "No!" the man cried, clinging to her opposite hand. But she couldn't hear him; the voice of Soul Edge filled every corner of her mind.

 _"You need me…"_ it whispered hollowly. _"You need my strength to destroy the ones who wronged you…"_ Soul Edge showed her Talal, Majd Addin and Leharas, the trio of conspirators, as well as Isaac and his lecherous soldiers.  _"They will fall so easily... but it won't end there."_

She saw the two Byzantine crusaders standing at the end of the street in Konya, the ones who brought her before Frederick Barbarossa. His leering visage enraged her. Abbas appeared, calling her a harlot, and then Malik, who hated her for falling in love with Altaïr. She despised them all, would cut down each of them and still more…

Telash, who had forced himself upon her in her own room, her sanctuary. Rauf, who ran his lustful hands over her while she trained. Al Mualim, who had used her as a pawn in his selfish quest to find Soul Edge…

Altaïr, the man who had robbed her of her innocence. He would be the first to die after Isaac.

 _'Altaïr… Altaïr…'_  She kept saying his name in her head. Tülay was supposed to hate him, but for some reason she could only recall good memories of the man. He had saved her from the harem. He had vouched for her merit as an Assassin. He tried to help her even though Al Mualim told him it was futile. He supported her dream of establishing a New Order in Persia; he wanted to help her do it, in fact. He wanted to be with her forever, but how could she be with him if she gave her heart to Soul Edge?

The shadow finally relinquished its grip on the girl, dropping her like a rag, but the essence still inside her wasn't going to surrender without a fight. Altaïr held Tülay against his chest, watching as darkness crept up her arm, turning her hand into a cruel talon and causing rivulets of lava-like blood to appear. It spread to her shoulder, where he could see her bones begin to shift and escape her flesh, and then to her neck, making her tendons swell as new muscle formed.

 _'I'm not letting her go…'_  the man thought, willing Soul Edge to hear his words.  _'She is strong enough without you. She already has all the power she needs.'_

Tülay's eyes snapped open, staring up at the man through constricted pupils and red irises. Soul Edge tried to speak using her mouth but a scream came out instead, something beyond human pitch that forced the knights and Assassins to cover their ears. Altaïr remained steadfast, repeating the same thing over and over again:  _'I love her, I love her, I love her…'_

Finally the corruption was ripped from her body. The light of Soul Calibur consumed it, bathing the area in cool blue luminescence before both energies winked out of existence. Everything returned to normal so suddenly that no one was certain if what they had just witnessed was real.

Tülay drew in a shuddering breath. She didn't have enough strength to return Altaïr's embrace; she could barely focus on his visage, which was both relieved and worried. She couldn't move her lips to apologize. All she could do was close her eyes and let sleep wash over her.

The nightmare was over.

* * *

Silence was the only sound that greeted her ears as she slowly regained consciousness. Tülay groaned slightly, which was enough to instantly summon Altaïr to her side. When her eyelids fluttered open and she saw his concerned visage, she smiled weakly. "What happened?" she attempted to ask, but her voice came out as a pitiful croak.

"Jerusalem is safe," the Master Assassin answered, "and Soul Edge is gone."

"Isaac...?" she managed more clearly.

Altaïr's jaw tensed. "He still lives. After the battle his remaining knights dragged him back to Jaffa and they fled to Cyprus. The people have rebelled, so he will be deposed soon enough."

The girl tried to smirk but her facial muscles protested. "Zasalamel... the man with the scythe?"

"He was the one who destroyed Soul Edge," Altaïr explained, the memory still very vivid. "He shattered it with some other sword. It makes me wonder why Al Mualim was interested in such otherworldly powers when it seemed only that man was capable of understanding them."

The Assassins were conflicted about their return to Masyaf. After the opposing energies had desisted and the Cypriots had fled, the men gathered around Altaïr as he prayed for Tülay to live. The lacerations on her body would become permanent reminders that she had touched pure evil. Why had Al Mualim sent them to seek out such a vile weapon? Certainly it was prudent to prevent the Templars from acquiring it, but if they had brought it to Masyaf, if Soul Edge had been exposed to the Grand Master... Altaïr wondered if he truly had the mental fortitude to resist the sword's influence.

"What about Telash?" Tülay apprehensively inquired.

The man glanced away. Zasalamel had struck him down without mercy. Whether they were in his way or he wanted to antagonize the Assassins, the three young scholars had met an untimely and unjust demise. "Telash fell in battle..." Altaïr said evenly, "as did two others. They are buried in the hills overlooking Jerusalem."

Tülay thought she had come out of the battle unfazed. She shed a few silent tears for her friend, but she told herself to remember how Telash had lived, not how he died.

Altaïr regarded her dolefully; she was not healing very well. He knew her slow rate of restoration could be attributed to the unnatural energy she'd been tainted with. Her wounds almost seemed to exude a faint red glow, one the doctors were wary of. Altaïr brought her to his room to watch over her, and after a week and three days she had finally woken. Tülay managed to sit up, letting the coarse blanket fall away from her bandages. The Master Assassin waited patiently while she examined her body in confusion. Did she remember anything after touching Soul Edge?

"Suphanallah..." she breathed in morbid fascination. Cotton gauze encircled most of her upper body from her neck to her fingertips, and some of the bandages were slightly red from the wounds that still bled occasionally. Tülay furrowed her brow at a lump beneath her middle finger; something cold and hard irritated the skin there.  _'My ring,'_  she realized. This was the first time she had really felt it. Her father gave it to her at age thirteen and it had not been removed since then. Now it itched terribly; she tried to scratch it through the bandages but to no avail. Tülay carefully picked at the cloth, peeling it off her finger.

Upon seeing the glimmering gem anxiety swelled within her, causing her vision to tunnel as the truth came rushing back. Soul Edge wasn't gone, it was alive in her ring. How a fragment of the evil spirit had managed to attach itself to such an ordinary item escaped her logic, but the ruby seemed to be staring back at her the longer she looked at it. She couldn't hear the voice in her head, but she knew it was listening. As long as they were connected it would be watching her. Tülay gripped the ring as if to remove it, yet something stopped her. Glancing at Altaïr made her realize what was holding the spirit at bay. As long as her heart fluttered whenever she thought about him, she would be protected from Soul Edge's wicked will. "We need to make love," she stated, gazing at him intently.

 _"Now?"_   he gaped.

The girl gave him a coquettish smile. "When I have recovered. Leave your door unlocked and I will come to you."

Altaïr grew excited by the thought. He leaned over her and stared down amorously. "But you're already here…" he crooned. "Why do I have to wait?"

She scoffed slightly. "Because I am  _injured_. I do not wish to do anything rigorous that will open my wounds."

"You don't have to do anything when you are beneath me…"

"Altaïr!" she exclaimed indignantly while her cheeks turned bright red. "Do not say things like that!"

"What should I say, then? Must I tell you how beautiful you look even in these wrappings? Should I let you know how much I enjoy the taste of your lips? How I can hardly wait to hear you moan my name before—"

Just then a shadow obstructed the light from the open door. Altaïr slowly turned toward whoever had interrupted his sweet nothings. His brow furrowed upon seeing Malik, who sighed exasperatedly. "Can't you keep your hands off Tülay for more than a minute? The indecency…"

"What do  _you_  want, Malik?" Altaïr demanded.

Almost sneering, he replied, "Al Mualim needs to speak with you.  _Immediately_. See the Master while I redress the dear girl's wounds." They glared as they passed one another, making Tülay roll her eyes. She smiled at the man while he gingerly unwrapped her bandages. "What do you see in him?" Malik asked.

"Many things," she softly replied, but didn't elaborate.

The man frowned. Everyone was now aware of the bond between Altaïr and Tülay, but why couldn't she say what she loved about him? If she found that question embarrassing, this next one would be even worse. "When will the two of you be wed?"

"I do not know," Tülay answered. Her expression didn't change at all, remaining melancholy as she stared at the blanket. "I do not think there will be a wedding…" she said after a minute.

"Why not? It only makes sense."

"I have to leave, Malik."

He stopped what he was doing and stared at her. "Why?"

"Because…" She gazed at her ring, which the man didn't notice. "I believe it is the best way to protect him… to protect all of you. Altaïr is not the only one I care for."

Malik was troubled by her cryptic words but didn't reveal it. If Tülay really left he would tell Altaïr what she said, and maybe he would know the meaning in it. He would likely be heartbroken as well; Malik had never seen him so devoted to another human being, not even Al Mualim. Altaïr was a very selfish person, so it was odd that he would be drawn to someone as selfless as Tülay. Perhaps it was true that opposites were attracted to one another.

* * *

After a month Tülay's injuries healed and all that remained of the once bloody gashes were dull scars. She spent another month doing physical therapy, regaining her strength with stretches and low-impact exercise. Then she returned to the training ring with Rauf, and some days Altaïr found her in the village dancing with children. The boys usually provided music while the girls sought to emulate her, though she only taught them steps and arm work

One day Altaïr looked all over for her only to discover her in the rotunda of the library, which no one used because the stained-glass ceiling cast colors that made it hard to read. Dust had settled over the curtains protecting the books, and on the floor was a circular area rug. Tülay had taken off her sandals and was dancing barefoot. Her eyes were closed as she moved in time to some unheard melody, and Altaïr leaned against a bookcase to watch.

He wasn't sure how to describe this particular dance– it seemed rather interpretive, as if she were acting out a story. Her legs swept across the carpet in wide arcs, like brush strokes. Her arms moved very fluidly, directing her spins and dips, supporting her when her back arced and she kicked her legs over her head, the fabric of her skirt fanning out. And just like that she became an acrobat, moving around the room as if gravity had no effect on her. She built up enough speed that she no longer needed her hands when she flipped and cartwheeled. Altaïr was particularly impressed when she paused to balance on one foot, raising her other leg in a vertical split. Then it swung down and around and she arched her back again, letting momentum carry her into a split on the ground.

"Habibty…" Altaïr said to announce himself. Tülay's eyes snapped open, the question of how long he'd been watching crossing her countenance before she gracefully rose to her feet.

"Aşkim," she replied in kind.

"You dance so beautifully."

She quirked an eyebrow. "Then why did you interrupt me?"

Altaïr approached and put his hands on her waist. "My door has been unlocked for many nights, yet I have spent none of them with you."

"Ahh. Have I ever told you, Altaïr, how flowery your words can be?" She smiled a little and leaned into him, crossing her wrists behind his neck.

"I only speak what has blossomed in my heart," he returned. Tülay started to roll her eyes, but then he kissed her and passion forced them shut.

It was true that when one did not have their sight their other senses were heightened– the pair discovered this as they made love long into the night. His room became a den of ecstasy initially lit by a single candle, but it melted into a pool of wax that extinguished the flame. In the darkness he felt himself melting into Tülay, becoming one with her, transferring part of his soul into her and gaining a piece of hers as well. It was otherworldly, the way he could sense where her fingers or lips would land on his body… Her touch made him shiver, tickled his skin with tiny bolts of lightning. He knew she was the only woman in the world capable of making him feel like this, of making his heart soar.

Tülay allowed herself to get lost in him. There was no longer a bed beneath them– it was a cloud, and she was in heaven. How else was it possible to feel him with every fiber of her being? It was many hours before they returned to earth, and by then Altaïr was almost falling asleep at her side. "Become my wife, Tülay…" he muttered, his voice low and husky. "Please marry me."

A lump formed in her throat, one she almost found too difficult to swallow. "Altaïr…"

"Please. I want to be with you for eternity."

"You will be. You will always be in my heart."

The man smiled and succumbed to slumber, but Tülay could not. It took every ounce of her willpower to prevent herself from shedding tears for him. She didn't want to leave, but that terrible voice had managed to break through her shield of bliss. It whispered cruel things to her and gave her even crueler visions of the future that was to come if she stayed with Altaïr.

Tülay felt her scars growing hotter and hotter until they tore open and bled. She felt her skin begin to writhe and boil, and then her left arm twisted into an appendage she could only describe as demonic. Her bones would become armor, and she would take up Soul Edge and slay everyone in her path, even those she once held dear: her family, her friends, her loving husband and their children…

Yes, there was a family in their future, but Tülay could only see their broken, lifeless bodies lying on the ground before her. Soul Edge would taste their blood and absorb their souls, forever tormenting its host with the knowledge that she was responsible for their demise. They would have believed it impossible for their own mother to do something so depraved, so  _inhuman_ , and realized in their moment of death that she had betrayed them.

Tülay had to leave to protect that future. She had to silence the voice of Soul Edge by remembering how it felt to be loved by Altaïr, a man who shared her dream. She hoped he wouldn't come to Persia in search of her because she honestly didn't know if she could stop herself from falling into his embrace, if he offered it.

The moon was full. Tülay found her clothes and dressed, pausing with a hand on the door to look back at Altaïr. He would never know how grateful she was for everything he had given her.

Because of him, she was free.


	19. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anne: ah-ney, mother  
> Khanum: honorific equal to "lady"

**Guardian**

Tülay was gone.

She had left to protect him… or so Malik said. He found Altaïr staring out a window in one of the highest towers of the fortress. From there it seemed like the entire world was visible. He cautiously approached the Master Assassin and cleared his throat, but Altaïr didn't move. The remark died on Malik's tongue and he came to stand beside him instead. Altaïr was looking east, inner turmoil evident in his features.

"Have I just been... dreaming all this time?" he asked aloud, turning to Malik for an answer. "Was everything I experienced a mere vision?"

"She was here, Altaïr," the man answered kindly. "She was real. You both have scars to prove it." Malik started to leave yet faltered at the stairs. "For what it's worth, I know the love you shared was genuine."

Altaïr rounded on him. "Then why wasn't it enough for her? Why wasn't it strong enough to protect her from Soul Edge?!"

"I cannot say." Malik lowered his gaze to the stone floor. "Perhaps whatever Tülay heard, whatever she saw, was too much for her to bear. There is darkness in every human heart and hers was filled with vengeance. She swore to me that she would kill Isaac Comnenus, but she failed. I believe she truly  _did_  leave to protect us... from herself."

His words made too much sense. The Master Assassin sighed and pressed his forehead to the window, letting the cold glass remind him that this was not a dream. Deep in his heart he knew Tülay had left because he failed to defend her from the evil of men. If only he had stayed at Addin's party, he would have seen the mercenaries coming after her. If only he had trusted his intuition and dispatched Leharas for his treachery. If only he had sailed to Cyprus and killed every single one of Isaac's soldiers, and then Isaac himself. If only he had held her tighter... If she hadn't felt the need to obtain Soul Edge's power, if she had trusted Altaïr to be strong enough for her...

But he wasn't. His love wasn't pure enough. She had been corrupted because he lusted after her, suffered because of the sin in his heart.

He knew where to find her, but it would be pointless to apologize. Nothing he said could undo everything that was now in the past.

* * *

A girl with light brown eyes and hair the color of fertile soil ran jovially through the streets of Nishapur until arriving at her home. She flung the door open wide, earning a stern glance from her language tutor, and raced down the hallway before sliding to a stop outside one of the many rooms. "Anne!" she yelled, and the woman looked up from her desk. "A circus troupe has arrived in town! Can we see it tonight?"

Tülay smiled warmly at her daughter, beckoning her into the room. She rounded the desk, a beautifully carved walnut piece from Kashmir, and knelt to peer into the girl's expectant face. "You want to see acrobats and magicians?" she inquired. The girl nodded vigorously, her father's eyes glittering.

"Yes!" Aliye pleaded. "Can we  _please_  go, Anne?"

"Of course we will," Tülay grinned, and her daughter prepared to exclaim her enthusiasm. "On one condition..."

_"Anne!"_

"You must invite that nice boy I always see you running off with."

The girl groaned and rolled her eyes. "Ihsan? Ugh, fine..." With that she spun on her heel and reentered the bustling populace. Nishapur was a frequent stop for traders traveling the Silk Road, but fine fabrics and exotic spices were not the only things the city was known for.

Tülay had spent about a month at an inn, making a living off dancing in the streets. She began to attract attention from men in positions of power– caliphs, viziers and emirs, none of whom wanted to choose sides in the battle between Kilij Arslan II and Toğrul III. Arslan was supported in Anatolia, the center of the Seljuq Empire, but others wanted to see Toğrul on the throne.

The Persian leaders attempted to distance themselves from the conflict; they were far from the capital and wanted to maintain their power, which came in the form of egalitarianism. The populace was formed of many peoples: Christians, Jews, Sunnis, Shiites, Buddhists and Zoroastrians. Armenians, Turks, Bedouins, Hindus, Mamluks and Afghans. But within this cultural melting pot was an ugly ingredient: slavery. Tülay noticed a distinct gender imbalance in the large cities, and it didn't take her long to discover what was happening to non-Muslim girls and women. She met one of them in the vizier's own home.

Although she had a child of her own to raise, Tülay established a school of dance, which her male rulers let her operate under the assumption that she was teaching their wives how to better entertain them. She came to be called Tülay Khánum by many in the region, and with the help of a retired court dancer she revived interest in the art. Of course, she was secretly spreading the philosophies of the Assassin Order, teaching women that there was no reason for them to be treated as second-class citizens. The Zoroastrians were especially receptive of these values, for their culture and society had been diminished by continual oppression– first from the Greeks and Romans, then from the Arabs. Tülay accepted men into her New Order as well, slaves brought from as far as North Africa. Everyone else thought they became eunuchs to serve her female students, but she showed them how to rise above traditional patriarchal values rooted in religions they did not follow. They were not weak for having emotions, nor should they feel guilty for letting them influence their actions… unless, of course, their actions dehumanized another person.

Be true to yourself, she said to them, and you will truly be free.

* * *

The performers and accompanying merchants were from Manchuria, their style of dress unlike anything Tülay had ever seen before. She just had to examine the application of fur on their clothing, and then there was beautiful jewelry to inspect as well…

"Anne, look!" She glanced down at her daughter's pointing finger, which directed her gaze toward an old man sitting patiently beside a jar of thin metal needles and bottles of ink. "A tattoo artist!" Tülay raised her eyebrow in silent admonishment. "You said I could get one when I turned thirteen," Aliye reminded her. "My birthday is only one week away!"

Aliye was young when she noticed the black mark on her mother's left ring finger, and wondered why she hadn't been born with one. Tülay explained that it was an artificial yet permanent marking. "It is a symbol of our way of life," she most often said, but just once she had admitted that the triangular glyph was a reminder of a person she deeply cared for, even to this day. Aliye's train of thought was that she too had people she never wanted to forget, so she needed a tattoo to remember them forever.

Tülay directed her daughter toward an artist wielding a paintbrush. Upon reaching his stall she was in awe of how many realistic faces stared back at her. "Would you like a portrait?" the middle-aged man kindly offered.

"Not of myself," she said, placing her daughter on the stool. Aliye frowned at first but relaxed as the man dipped his brush into tan ink and began forming her likeness. She moved to rest her chin in her hand, staring intently while her face was captured on paper. He used a small, fine brush to paint her eyes, nose and lips, and then grabbed a larger one to form the strands of her dark brown hair.

When he was finished he stamped his seal in the corner, a red mass of horizontal and vertical lines Tülay had no hope of decoding. After the ink dried the artist rolled up the paper and bound it with string. Aliye thanked him and unwound the scroll once they had wandered away. "Look," she said with a slight laugh, "he even painted the ring you gave me!"

Tülay glanced from the paper to the heirloom Aliye wore around her middle finger. The stone leered at her, Soul Edge's spirit still trapped behind each facet of the large ruby.  _'Not trapped,'_ the woman thought,  _'awaiting the day it will be set free.'_

She knew her daughter was strong enough to bear the ring. She was a romantic at heart no matter how often she made fun of the boys who admired her. Aliye would meet the man of her dreams one day and fall deep enough in love to prevent Soul Edge from walking the world while she wore it. Then, when she had a child of her own, the ring would be passed on, and so would the idea that love filled one's soul with immeasurable strength.

* * *

_"Where is it... have you found it yet?"_

_"No... just wait another second."_

_"We don't have any more seconds to waste! ...Wait, what was that? Go back, quickly!"_

_"I am! Quit yelling at me!"_

_"Stop! There... there it is!"_

* * *

Altaïr sat at his desk in consternation. His sketch of a weapon much more advanced than any he knew to currently exist was only half finished, and he felt it imperative to get the design onto paper before the Apple decided to show him something else. Each day he spent many hours with the Piece of Eden in an attempt to unlock its secrets; he'd been doing it for fourteen years and was still amazed by what he saw.

A knock he knew by heart came at the door. "Enter…" he sighed, not even opening his eyes. Malik strode up to the desk and placed something on it, which Altaïr regarded through a narrow slit. "What's this?"

"It was just delivered by a Persian courier. He rode right up to the gate and handed this to one of the initiates, saying it was for you."

The Grand Master's scowl deepened when he picked up the scroll. Malik hovered over his shoulder, curious to see the contents. It was odd that the Order would receive correspondence from Persia; there was very little instability in that region. Perhaps someone in charge sought their help with a political threat.

Both men gasped at the revealed image, Altaïr letting it go as if he had picked up a hot coal. Malik leaned over further, taking in every aspect of the visage staring back at them. It was a girl, one just at the age where she was beginning to find her way in the world. "She's beautiful…" Malik uttered, and looked at Altaïr in disbelief. "She looks just like—"

 _"Tülay…"_  he finished, her name a ghost on his lips. Yes, the face on the paper was a younger version of the woman he often saw in his dreams, but there was something vastly different about her now.

The eyes staring up at him were his own.

* * *

"...What's happening? Don't let that memory go!"

"I can't stop it! The Animus is shutting down!"

"How the hell is it doing that?!"

Lucy threw her hands up, watching helplessly while the projected images cycled through all they had seen so far, rewinding until the screen went blank. She sighed in exasperation as Warren Vidic shot her a glare. "Tell me we recorded that last sequence," he said in a tone that suggested there would be consequences if it was not so. Lucy typed furiously, then smiled in relief. The portrait of the girl appeared on a larger screen and Vidic's mouth turned up in a victorious smile. "Zoom in on the hand." Lucy couldn't help but grin, too, for their search had finally yielded not just something, but  _the_  thing: a fragment of Soul Edge from the Third Crusade. They knew it slept within the ring on the girl's finger.

Now that its existence had been proven, it was time to return to Subject 19. Initially discovered in Subject 17's genetic memories by complete accident, Abstergo had quickly traced the Turkish woman's lineage to a family living in San Francisco. Unfortunately the patriarch, one Ahmed Bayrakdarian, was the CEO of a corporation specializing in digital security, which prevented Abstergo from hacking their servers. But Ahmed's daughter had been procured and they could now search her genetic memory for Soul Edge. The weapon would be a great asset to Abstergo; it might even surpass the Pieces of Eden in terms of wreaking wanton destruction. Out of that chaos would come an offer of peace, an offer the world's governments would be foolish to turn down. They'd all end up in the palm of Abstergo's hand.

Lucy looked down at their current subject. Desmond Miles had been knocked unconscious by the static his own mind generated and was useless for the time being. "Should I ready 19?" she asked her superior.

"Yes," Vidic nodded. "Let's find out what her ancestors did with Soul Edge."

* * *

**To be continued…**


End file.
